One Shot Pile Up
by CretianStar
Summary: A collection of one shots (mostly Sherlolly) with an array of ratings. There's now some lemony smuts mixed in there too. Requests welcome.
1. Snorts, Snuffles & Sweet Dreams

A/N: Well Have this tiny little cute shot. I might make this into a series of drabbles and requests, so go mad.

Enjoy!

* * *

Sherlock came in to discover his Molly asleep on the sofa of their home. She was an inelegant sleeper, he'd always known that – watched her many times grunting away with her mouth open but if anything he'd loved her more. Every pretence that had naturally occurred during the early days of their relationship had been stripped away when Molly was asleep. She couldn't pretend to be refined and ladylike asleep, she wasn't doing her best to be bold or confident, or even holding back her gas. When she was asleep, Sherlock adored her natural state, even if she'd forced him to the sofa sometimes after eating cauliflower. Of course, at this stage in their relationship, she did all that anyway.

But right not she was a cute sleeper, or maybe he was biased. She had curled herself up in an awkward ball in the corner of the recliner. The seat was up, laptop open at the foot of the chair while she spread along the seat's length. One arm flopped across her eyes to cover her from the sitting room lights, a childhood toy pressed against her nose, while her legs were curled against her chest. It looked so uncomfortable but Sherlock knew she could easily sleep through his arrival.

It had been a strange few days for Molly – a work do had seen her storming out of a strip club, getting lost in Essex and having to train it back to London on her own, while on the phone to Sherlock and crying pitifully at the deception of her supposed colleagues.

So he'd sent her flowers Monday morning to brighten up her paperwork filled day. Knowing she'd be sat up in one of the offices surrounded by said bastard colleagues, he'd dispatched them as quickly as possible and listened to her for fifteen minutes on the phone, her subject switching between gratitude and embarrassment at having such an extravagant bunch of flowers delivered to her desk. A bunch that she could barely get on the tube and instead gave into getting a cab home, the mass of flowers were now sat on their kitchen table in the vase that came with them, pride of place in the centre.

Sherlock smiled again as she grunted and rolled over once more, pressing her face into the pillow to block out the light, one white leg kicked perilously close to her laptop. Something Sherlock foresaw and quickly pulled the device away before it could tumble onto the floor. Just in time as her leg stretched along the length of the upturned recliner seat. Smiling fondly at the dull mundane nature of his life, Sherlock settled himself on the armchair, fingertips pressed together and watched his Sleeping Beauty snore her way through the next 30 minutes.


	2. Cycles

A/N: Eh I decided to make it into cute fluffy drabbles. I'll put naughty ones up maybe (if requested) but right now they're cute.

In case it's unclear, the italics is a memory and the ordinary font is now...

ENJOY!

* * *

 _Extra chocolate wrappers stuffed in her lab pockets and she was cosying up to him more, unconsciously though, Sherlock noted as Molly hastily stepped away from his side again._

 _She must be due on. He thought with a triumph and then before his brain to mouth gear registered, he stopped and pondered. He'd be kinder to her this week then._

The memory suddenly sprang into his head while he was lazing on the sofa. Wrapped in his blue dressing gown, he remembered a moment from four years ago when he was in the laboratory with Doctor Molly Hooper. He had made a blasé comment about her menstrual cycle before that memory, and was perturbed when she fled from the room, her skin a beautiful shade of red. After that point – when Stamford had politely dropped it into conversation that women's menstruation was not likely to be discussed openly, or so callously – Sherlock had made a mental note of Molly's cycle. He had found that if he was nicer to her in the few days leading up to it and the first few days of her period, he usually got more out of her – including better body parts and nicer coffee.

Now though it was entirely different, he kept tabs on Molly's cycle in order to offer as much comfort as he could muster when she needed it. Or to allow her unconscious snuggling habit when she was unknowingly craving attention. He thought fondly of Molly's ignorance when it came to her mood swings. The few days before hand, when she would snack more than usual, much to her chagrin also saw her being more affectionate, and curling up with him on the sofa, wrapping herself around him like some form of ivy.

As if on cue, Molly slipped into the room from the kitchen, hands wrapped around a mug of tea and made a beeline for Sherlock's side. He opened his arm in welcome and she sighed contentedly as her own arm slipped around his waist and her legs curled between his on the recliner. He kissed the top of her head as she snatched at the remote and pulled a chocolate bar from her dressing gown pocket.

"Are we watching some confounded documentary again?" He said with a groan as she flicked through the channels.

"Yup, so be prepared for animal mummies!" She grinned, leaning up to kiss him before settling down to watch, ignoring the suffering sigh of Sherlock.


	3. New Year

A/N: Straight up smut. I'll probably rename this, because it's going to my drabble drop dumping ground for Sherlolly! I also know this is three months late, BUT I had no muse then, I have a muse now!

Enjoy!

* * *

"Molly." Sherlock's voice was urgent in her ear. "Molly, do you really want this?"

It was honestly a little bit late to be asking now. He had invited her out for New Year's, to Mycroft's Gala Ball and n ow here they were in one of the state rooms of the Ministry of Defence.

"Shut up Sherlock." She hissed back to him before biting his neck. He whimpered before kissing her sloppily.

 _Earlier_

"Sherlock you can't just sneak me in and out of rooms! This is the Ministry of Defence!" Molly exclaimed as Sherlock hustled her into an oak panelled room, his hand steering her at the small of her back. Anthea, Mycroft's secretary had given her a wink when Sherlock had pulled her from the main function, much to Molly's mortification, but she was waved away with a knowing smile, that Molly swore she had got all wrong. She'd have to explain when she saw Anthea next for lunch.

"Watch me." His rebuttal made her frown, until she stopped and took stock of what room Sherlock had crept into. It was everything you could expect from a government office until Molly noted the view. It overlooked the Thames, and directly opposite was the London Eye, and at quarter to midnight, Molly could practically taste the party atmosphere of the revellers outside. While Mycroft's Gala was fun, it was rather dignified and sophisticated, a bit too much for a New Year's party. However the heaving crowds outside took Molly back to the times she mingled with strangers on the street, all cheering in a brand New Year. Meena and Molly had tore London up in their younger years, drinking with the rest of London and kissing random men at the stroke of midnight. But now Meena was down in Cornwall with the prospective in-laws and Molly was celebrating with a very fine glass of champagne in the Ministry of Defence. Their younger selves wouldn't know what had hit them.

Molly couldn't work out whether Sherlock had been flirting with her all evening, in the end she had decided it was either for show or she was using her overactive imagination. But now, there was no-one to prove anything to, no need to protect her and still Sherlock's hand hovered at the base of her spine again.

"Did I tell you, you look gorgeous?" His voice was a low husky baritone, a tone that Molly had mentally labelled as his 'coffee voice' as it was usually heard when he wanted something from her. But now, now she was unsure.

"Thank you Sherlock." She toyed with the thick silver bangle on her wrist and then looked up at him, her look calculating. "Kiss me Sherlock." She hadn't worked out where her burst of courage had come from but some part of her had thought sod it. She was in a government building, illicitly in an office that would have the most beautiful view of the impending firework show, with a man she had rather fancied for a good few years. If Christmas Eve was meant to be a magical night for children, then New Year's eve could be a magical night for adults. Molly wanted her magical night.

"Gladly." His answer took her by surprise, which only deepened as he bent his head and quickly pressed his lips to hers. Her small squeak was quickly swallowed by his kiss, and her arms automatically rested on his shoulders, toying with the soft curls at the back of his head. They only pulled apart when the fireworks erupted at the chimes of Big Ben.

"Sherlock…" Molly stammered, her lips feeling swollen by his kisses and she felt positively wanton.

"Do you know Mycroft has always said I would never be able to get away with having sex in a government office, and I think it's because he thinks I never have sex, but I would love you to be the person that I prove him wrong with." Sherlock's tone was almost conversational, and Molly thankfully recognised his clumsy attempt at propositioning her. While many may have baulked at his abrupt wording, bordering on sounding like a bet, Molly found him as always, rather endearing in his awkwardness.

"Do you know something Sherlock, I think I would love to cross the MOD off my bucket list." She smiled up at him, he could see the tentativeness in her eyes and sought to remedy any anxiety as quickly as possible. Leaving her embrace, he crossed the carpet to turn the key in the lock before his strides brought him back into Molly's open embrace.

"Molly." Sherlock's voice was urgent in her ear. "Molly, do you really want this?"

"Shut up Sherlock." She hissed back to him before biting his neck. He whimpered before kissing her sloppily.

She had taken the initiative in kissing him – maybe this was a truly magical night after all, Molly thought as she tugged at his bow tie and dropped it to the floor. She made nimble work of the buttons on his shirt, despite kissing him until they were both breathless. The bare expanse of his chest was soon mapped by her greedy fingers, eager to explore the muscles she had so often fantasised about. Sherlock's hands were not idle, he had caught the zipper on her dress and the fabric soon pooled around her black shoes. Her moment of self-consciousness vanished as Sherlock put every ounce of his passion into their kiss, even catching his hands around her legs, to lift her onto the desk just a few feet away.

She was biting at his collarbone now, teeth lightly scraping the skin and Sherlock rutted his hips into her, an action he did not have control over.

They were soon tangled in underwear and loose clothing, swearing and giggling at the absurdity of what they were doing when Sherlock started to blaspheme about a condom.

"I'm safe, are you?" She whispers, catching his jaw in her hand, making him stare at her.

"I'm safe." He nods before kissing her again.

Molly didn't know what she was expecting for her first time with Sherlock. There were fireworks - the official fireworks had finished outside but the bangs across London hadn't stopped, she soon saw stars and there was an undoubtable electricity between the pair of them as they moved together.

It was everything she had ever dreamed and more.

When they both came down from their respective highs, Molly felt the chill of the room seep into her skin, even with Sherlock's panting form still curled around her on the desk. She was drawn back to the reality of bonking Sherlock over a thankfully empty desk in a room inside the MOD. Bonking a man who had no interest in relationships…

"Molly you're thinking too loudly." Sherlock murmured, kissing her neck softly between breaths. "Naturally we'll begin dating after this moment. I have been trying to tell you for weeks now. Every time I invited you for coffee you just brought it to me, or if I tried to take you somewhere you'd arrange with Anthea and then never came with me. I had started to think you had moved on, until you opted to come tonight but I hope our last little…encounter," His voice hesitated on the word, "would lead to something more." There was a hopeful note to his tone and Molly's brain, still slightly scrambled from the mind blowing orgasm had to jump start back to life once more, after Sherlock's revelation.

"You want to date me?" She was shell shocked, the astonished look on her face told Sherlock that this was not what she was expecting.

"If you have no wish to date me Molly, please say. I'm not a catch, in fact I'm more hard work than you need; I'm whiny, needy, grumpy, my mood swings would rival any womans, I'm an ex addict, I'm sly and deceptive and when I have a case I'm the worst person to live with… ask John…" His sentence was muffled into obscurity as Molly pulled him down for a kiss. A kiss that answered all of his worries.

"I would love to go out with you Sherlock." She whispered, when coming up for air. "You've made my New Year's absolutely magical." She was breathless and beaming up at the consulting detective.

"I was going to say are you up for a round two, but let's go back to the Savoy?" Sherlock raised one eyebrow and Molly laughed.

"We both live in London Sherlock, why on earth are we going to a hotel?" She had looped her arms around his neck and she knew the smile was still plastered to her face, but she was too happy to care.

"Because Mycroft has paid for it." He shrugged with his own cheeky smile and Molly laughed again.

"Sherlock Holmes, you scurrilous man. Let's see how fast we can get there." She grinned, squeaking as he kissed her again.

"Happy New Year Doctor Molly Hooper."

"Happy New Year Sherlock Holmes."


	4. Training

A/N: Practically a crack fic! This strange little thing popped into my head!

Enjoy!

* * *

"Sherlock!" Molly chastised at the mess in her lounge. All she could see of the infuriating man was a mop of brown curls behind the sofa. "You bad boy!" She was scolding now and the head dipped further, as if he was hiding from her. Marching around to face him, she was met with a sight she was now well used to; a fur covered Sherlock staring balefully up at her.

He yipped at her, and one paw anxiously rested against her leg, his muzzle nudging her knee cap. She almost gave in but then the sight of her trashed lounge caught her eye.

"No Sherlock! We've discussed this. I said you can use my flat for your changes each month but not that you can wreck the place after you've changed. Don't even pretend you won't understand this Holmes or so help me god I'll send you to the kennels!" She wagged a finger while he whimpered.

"Honestly Holmes, when you wake up with thumbs tomorrow you are tidying this mess and ordering me another set of cushions! I swear the delivery boy is wondering what I'm doing with new cushions every two months! I can hardly tell him that my best friend is a lunar shape shifter that takes the form of a very adorable setter, but he has a very annoying habit of tearing my lounge apart… that'll have me locked up faster than you can knock my lamp over…" Molly huffed at the mess, but her heart melted a little at the puppy eyes before her, especially when said dog grabbed one of the untorn pillow and with a flick of his head launched it back onto the sofa.

He started to nose her fallen lamp back into place, seeming to get frustrated when he couldn't right it and Molly stepped forward to brush his head.

"Come on Sherlock. Bed time, like I said you can sort it out tomorrow when you have thumbs." She smiled when his wet nose pushed into the palm of her hand. "But you are on the sofa." She pointed at the bare couch and even when he whimpered she held firm.

She could almost see the sulk in his canine body as he launched himself on the chair, ignoring her soft goodnight call by keeping his back to her with a stony silence and Molly let her bedroom door snick shut.

Having a shifter for a best friend made her life interesting, that was without a doubt. She was dreading the day that their monthlies coincided with one another.


	5. Breeches

A/N: So I had a prompt written in my notebook of 18c clothes and finally it sparked and came to me in this form!

Enjoy.

* * *

Molly's brain had melted. It was official. All that learning, medical knowledge and degree had upped and sailed out of her brain and vanished and the reason why was stood before her, staring at her expectantly.

"You said something?" She blinked a couple of times but she was barely aware that her faculties had left her.

"I said will this outfit do!?" Sherlock was gesturing at his body and frankly, inviting Molly to stare was not going to speed up her mental reboot process.

His white shirt was open at the throat, and over his arm was slung a black jacket, a cravat rested in his fingers, waiting to be tied around that delectable throat and a tailored pair of black trousers finished his ensemble.

Now when stated, there was nothing remotely brain fuzzing about that outfit, but Molly's head had short circuited and somehow mixed up the very real vision of Sherlock with the hallucinatory vision of Colin Firth's Mr Darcy. The two images had overlapped in her head and produced a heart stopping picture and swirl of emotions in her. Hence the lack of contact Sherlock was getting right now. Honestly, she thought she was going to faint when he first walked in.

"Er." Molly was still staring and now Sherlock was clicking his fingers in front of her face, looking most impatient. "Where exactly are you going?" She stammered, desperate to tear her eyes away from the god before her. She felt like she was going mad, how can she have confused Sherlock and Mr Darcy!?

"Some Jane Austen re-enactment, there's a possible serial killer and I thought I should go under cover as John's knowledge of literature is awful. We have discussed this you're coming with me." Sherlock had turned back to a slide on the side while continuing and suddenly Molly's brain crashed again but for entirely different reasons.

"You and I have not discussed this!" Molly squeaked.

"Your knowledge of Jane Austen's work is exemplary, of course you are coming with me." Sherlock's brow furrowed, as if trying to recall whether he had told her or rehearsed the conversation mentally.

"I don't have an outfit!" Molly exclaims, temporarily distracted from his distracting body.

"I've sorted that! I've got you a few choices, I didn't know which character you would prefer to masquerade as and I got myself a couple of different choice. Do you think these breeches will suit me?" He had pulled out his phone, swiping photos of dresses until the last photo was of the dark brown high-waisted trousers, his calves clearly defined in the grey socks while the material left very little to her imagination, despite the supposed bagginess of the fabric. It was historically inaccurate but Molly didn't care too much. Her breath caught and the world sort of swam.

The next image Molly remembered was Sherlock's face blurrily before her, concern etched across his features and then she realised she was lying down.

"Don't move Molly, you stopped breathing, so wrap your arms around my neck and I'll take you to Stamford's office to lie you down." Sherlock's voice was fuzzy but despite everything, she was aware that he was sweeping her into his arms around carrying her out of the lab door in a bridal hold.

Well she nearly fainted again. Elizabeth Bennett would have had a fit at such dramatics.


	6. Eating

A/N: Have a nibble on a Warstan. Its that the ship name? I never remember. But enjoy this little one set in uni.

Enjoy!

* * *

"What do you mean I'm not the King Clam?" John belches, wiping his mouth on the napkin around his neck and eyeballing the owner.

Most of the university knew that 3rd year medical student John Watson was one of the best competitive eaters on not just the uni circuit, but on the competitive eating circuit in general! There was a deathly silence over those that had come to watch him take on Clamuel Jackson's challenge.

"You didn't make it. You're not King Clam." The owner shrugged. "Someone still has a faster time than you."

"But who?" John was dumbfounded; he hadn't lost an eating challenge since first year after his room-mate Sherlock had put cinnamon on the sausages. It was still a sore point in the pair's complex friendship. But now, Sherlock was behind him, hand clapped to John's shoulder as a warning about his rapidly flaring temper.

"That would be me." A female voice cut across the silence and a figure broke free from the crowds. A petite blonde with a pixie cut that curled in all the right places. The smile on her features wasn't exactly sheepish but it wasn't a smirk either.

"And you are?" John's brain was in an odd state of panic right now – there was a sense of moral concern at challenging a rather delicate looking woman to an eating contest.

"Mary Morstan, proud holder of the King Clam award." She grinned and stuck out her hand.

"Rematch." John suddenly demanded, he said as he gripped her hand in his.

"What right now? After that meal that you've just wolfed down? I'm prepared to offer you a chance Watson. Next week. Deal?" Mary made her proposition and John stared critically at her before nodding. "Enjoy paying for the £50 quid here!" She grinned and walked out of the door while John stared at the array of empty dishes before him.

His eyes looked up the now shut door and smiled slightly; Mary Morstan was a very interesting woman indeed. He would totally kick her arse next week. Then maybe take her to the cinema.


	7. Bikini Marks

A/N: I have no excuses - it's been a while I know! Dang, it's been over two months! Oops!

But my defence is, have this implicative little number. If it's wanted I'll extend it out!

Enjoy!

* * *

"No John I am fine…" Sherlock's sat at a bar listening to the whinges of his best friend (not that'd ever admit it to the bloody man. "What do you mean I never take you the fun places? Why does a Greek island constitute a fun place?" Sherlock's lost at the track of conversation. "Of course I've brought Molly, she works better as a cover story – otherwise I'd have to stick my tongue down your throat… no I'm not going to actually kiss Molly… no John…"

Sherlock's patience is wearing thin now.

"It's easier to pretend to be a hetero couple than it is a homosexual one!" He hisses. "What do you mean have I seen Molly's swimsuit, yes hello Mary, you helped Molly buy her outfits for this journey? That would explain the white blouses." Sherlock mused before being pulled back to the conversation. "The swimsuit was Molly's idea? Mary are you speaking in code?! Right I'm going now!" Sherlock quickly hung up and went back to nursing his cocktail.

Really, Mycroft needed him checking on a drug cartel on one of the Greek Islands and the two brothers had mutually agreed that Molly would be a better companion on this trip than John would… speaking of companion – where was she? Pushing his sunglasses up his nose, Sherlock looked around the resort, head lifting to spy out his fake girlfriend. There was a line of women sunbathing in their resort, including one on the patio outside his balcony. Sherlock spotted the figure lying on her front, a hat covering the back of her head and for a moment Sherlock is stumped. There's something about the deliciously round derriere that makes him stop and stare. Part of his constant internal monologue is chastising him for openly ogling another woman when his _girlfriend_ is around the resort somewhere but he can't help it. The black bikini bottoms hug her round cheeks in a sinful manner and the strings of the top are untied leaving her back bare for his admiring gaze. Not that he can see too much of course, he is on the other side of the pool at the bar, far enough from the mystery woman to feel sure that she cannot feel his hot gaze on her.

Stymied by his animalistic response to the mystery woman, Sherlock abruptly turns back to the bar and picks up the cocktail he ordered for Molly and sets off the long way round back to the apartment. He'd do anything to avoid the woman who had churned up the supposedly long dormant arousal in his gut. He managed to open the door juggling the two drinks (all with the infernal keyring that's four sizes bigger than the key itself) and was calling out Molly's name when he realised with a dry mouth that he could see the figure outside again.

Did she have to be so close to _his_ apartment?

"Molly?" He tried again, anything to distract him from remembering that delightful derriere on his mystery woman. There was no answer from his supposed beau and he frowned at the silence of the apartment and tried calling her again. He searched through their shared bedroom even into the ensuite in case she was hiding in there and frowned before heading out to the balcony. Steeling himself to stare at everywhere except the mystery woman's backside, his eyes scanned the hotel resort for his wayward girlfriend. He had noted that the woman had moved and part of him was glad for the absence of her while a little was aching at the missing the sight of that arse swaying as she would have walked away.

"Where has she gone?" He muttered before going to sweep into the apartment once more.

"Sherlock? Sherlock I've forgotten the key, let me in!" Molly's voice can be heard from the apartment door and Sherlock strides over to throw it wide. Only instead of the mild berating he was going to give her for going missing, Sherlock finds his words drying in his throat as he spies the floppy hat in her hands and then his eyes are drawn to the black bikini currently clinging to her body.

"Oh …" He stumbles on his words and when Molly raises one eyebrow he lets her pass without a word.

"Oh you got me Sex On The Beach! Thanks." Molly sashays past him and even though he's counting in his head, mentally scolding himself hundreds of times over, as soon as he turns to engage in conversation with her, his eyes are drawn straight down to her butt. How could he not have known that delightful peachy arse has been attached to his pathologist all this time?! His mystery woman was his Molly. His Molly had an arse that could stop armies in their paths, create world pace and could have probably toppled Rome. Sherlock could feel his infatuation growing by the second. "Earth to Sherlock?" She was waving in front of his face while sipping the cocktail, looking somewhat bemused by his currently gormless state. "What's wrong?"

"Your… nothing." He caught himself just in time, but now Molly was looking even more perplexed than before.

"My what?" She frowned. "Are you on about my bikini marks Sherlock?" She even pulled aside the side of those sinful swim shorts to reveal the thin line of white skin beneath them and Sherlock internally sighed. That was it. He was well and truly sunk, he may as well raise the white flag to his sanity now.

"Well fuck." Was all he could manage to say out loud before he crossed the apartment in two swift steps and kissed her hard on the mouth. A small, rapidly diminishing part of him was perturbed that Molly didn't even seem alarmed by the turn of events, and a fraction of him was fairly sure she was smirking but he dismissed it and focused instead of kissing the life from the woman before him. He was sure to slide his hands around her backside to cup that delightful derriere and heard a small squeak of approval from the woman in his arms.

He pulled back for some much needed air, an apology on his tongue until he saw the glint in her eyes.

"Mary said you chose the swimsuit." He said flatly and she smirked.

"Mary and I decided you needed a kick in the right direction and well the bikini was it…" She grinned. "But I'm not finished with you yet. Get on the bed Mr Holmes." She ordered and he complied with a smirk.

"Good, because I need to examine these tan marks…" He growled, reaching for and pulling her beneath for a long and well deserved kiss.

It would be some time later that evening that Molly would text Mary Watson a thumbs up and a bikini emoji – much to the delight of the other woman.


	8. Independence Day

A/N: I know America's celebration was last week BUT this has just come to me!

Enjoy!

* * *

"I'm going to need you to come round." The unknown female voice stopped Sherlock from his pacing. This mysterious phone call from an unsaved number had him a little perturbed.

"Who is this?"

"Don't be obtuse Sherlock. This is an emergency!" The voice was a little shrill but still Sherlock couldn't remember. His continuing silence exasperated his caller. "Have you deleted me?!" She was clearly pissed. "It's Meena, Molly's annoying best friend." She tutted. "I need you to come to Molly's. Now."

She didn't have to say anymore. Sherlock was almost out of the door, until Mrs Hudson's exclamation made him realise he was without trousers, but after a readjustment he was in a cab to Molly's flat.

It was Meena who opened the door and she just sighed and waved him through to the lounge.

There was Molly, leaning against the wall, wrapped in an American flag with an array of starry and stripy foods and decorations dotted around the room. He stopped at the threshold frowning before Molly spotted him.

"Shurrrrlock." Drunk Molly was an interesting Molly – hard to gauge, prone to tears, but equally quick to fight a man twice her size and win.

"Molly." He said carefully, stepping in as Meena huffed behind him. "What's going on?"

"It's Independence Day Shurrrlockkkk." She hiccupped. "Duh." She was blinking slowly and it was clear she could barely focus on his form. "Stop moving." She mumbled, leaning back against the wall.

"You're not American?" Sherlock's confusion hadn't ceased but he heard Meena starting to clear away a stars and striped cake from the table.

"Nope, but it is Independence Day." Molly repeated, swaying towards him with her flag still snug around her. "July fourth. Most important day of the year." She hiccupped again and this time Sherlock caught Meena's sympathetic look. His mental calendar swung through everything that had happened on July fourth and after 3 seconds he finally dinged on the answer.

"The day your divorce came through and you became Miss Independent."

"No longer Mrs Birch." She said mournfully, curling into Sherlock's chest, forcing the detective to wrap his arms around her.

"It's okay Molls." He crooned softly, nodding to Meena who was edging her way to the door. She was Molly's best friend and this meant she knew exactly what Doctor Hooper needed – Sherlock.

"It's not okay Sherlock. I'm a thirty something divorcee who has no-one that loves her." She had started to cry now.

"That's not true." Sherlock had started to manoeuvre the drunk woman onto the sofa managing to pop her down before sitting next to her. She flopped onto his lap, narrowly missing headbutting him in a rather sensitive area, and was now bawling into his trousers. He fussed helplessly at the sobbing woman, patting her awkwardly on the head as she snuffled into his trouser leg. "You know that's not true." He attempted to pull her upright but she now clung to his leg, refusing to move.

"It is… no-one cares about me." She wailed.

"Now Hooper…" He winced at the mention of her maiden surname but it seemed to bypass the good doctor. "Molly, let me list the minimum of the people I know that care about you; your mother, your siblings, including all of your nieces and nephews, Meena, John, Mary, Annabelle Watson, Mike Stamford, Lestrade, even those Dunderheads at NSY like you and that's not to mention the morons you work with." As his list lengthened, she had loosened her grip and Sherlock was able to sit her up. She stared tearfully up at him and the detective pulled out his handkerchief and wiped away the spilling tears.

"Are you lying to me?" She said rather pitifully but Sherlock shook his head.

"Never Molly…"

"You've lied to me before." She whispered and Sherlock could only stare at her.

"When I was a very different person Molls, because there was one person I missed out on the list." She was still leaking a little but it was thumb this time that stroked away the tear. "I missed me off the list, but you should know that I care about you an awful lot Molly Hooper." She burst into tears all over again, launched herself at him and latched her arms around his neck. "I think we should put you to bed." He said gently, managing to lift the drunk and hiccupping Doctor past the wine bottles and cupcakes to the bedroom. He laid her out and tucked the covers around her before propping himself up to lay neck to her.

"Stay with me Sherlock." She murmured, already drifting off after the alcohol and mental turmoil she had been through day.

"Wouldn't leave your side." He murmured.

"Kay." She was already asleep before Sherlock could stroke away the hair on her forehead. He sent three texts; one to Lestrade saying he wasn't available for cases, one to John cancelling their dinner plans and one to Meena, confirming Molly was now asleep and that he'd keep an eye on her. He then switched his phone to silent and settled down next to the slumbering woman.

"What a horrible day."


	9. Nothing In Common

A/N: Hey look at that it's been a month since this was updated! So have this wonderfully long one instead! It's not quite Sherlolly I'm afraid.

Enjoy!

* * *

They had nothing in common.

It was three weeks of Molly permanently living in 221b that made Sherlock and her realise they literally had nothing in common with one another, apart from dead bodies. Now, even the dead bodies connection was fraying, as after 8 years in the job Molly was starting to resent death. Especially as her own hung now over her head.

Sherlock and John protected her from the threat of Moriarty, with the help of Lestrade and his team but even Molly knew 221b was an obvious choice to look. However Sherlock insisted and she remained locked in the small flat all day, her job on sabbatical.

This is where she discovered that despite her love for Sherlock Holmes they did not have one mutual interest. He'd come back to find her swearing at the tv, shouting at the ref for a crap decision against her beloved West Ham, this point he'd drily tell her the match was fixed and the remote was launched at his head. He only just moved. She would later apologise but when she was in "match mode" as she termed it, very little would move her from the couch.

Which is what caused a rather heated argument. The Apprentice clashed with the football and a stalemate occurred over the telly. It got to the point that both were so stubborn that Molly hoiked her coat on and was halfway out the door to the nearest pub when Sherlock remembered she was a fugitive and couldn't leave.

Neither watched what they wanted that night.

Molly also liked walks in the park, something Sherlock had forbidden. She was starting to go a little stir crazy in the flat, she had read any books she deemed decent by Sherlock and was bored brainless of the fact ones, she missed her romances. Something Sherlock had flat out refused to buy, Mrs Hudson on the other hand was more forthcoming. Mary Watson also was an angel and happily spent hours with little Elizabeth in tow around the flat to try and stop Molly's impending madness. But it was still forthcoming, and she wanted out of this flat.

Sherlock and her argued constantly on everything; what food would be eaten, who was going to cook, who was going to wash up, who was going to clean the house, everything.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES I AM NOT YOUR DAMN SERVANT." She screamed at him one night.

"But you're not working?"

"BECAUSE YOU WON'T LET ME YOU IMBECILE OF A MAN." Molly hated how shrill she sounded when she screamed but honestly, Sherlock Holmes would be the death of her at this rate. Or she'd do the damn job better than Moriarty and kill him herself. One of the two. Homicide or suicide. "Let me out of his fucking building or so help me God Sherlock I will ram a test tube so far up your arse it will hit your back teeth." She snarled. Sherlock's quick deduction saw that Molly was not above using the iron as a weapon right now, but he was certain that 221b was the safest place for her to be.

"You know you can't leave Molly." He tried to put authority in his tone but it just had the effect of making her hackles rise further. "It's for you own safety…" He tried but the iron was still firmly in her grip and she seemed to be advancing on him.

"Sherlock. Holmes. I will clout you with this hot iron if you do not leave my vicinity in the next ten seconds. I will not be held accountable for my actions if you are still within my line of sight." Her voice was low and dripping with threat. Sherlock took the tactical retreat.

In the end to save Sherlock from a dented skull, she got hold of Mycroft's personal number and in desperation rang the older brother. The baritone voice echoed down the line to her sounded creepily like Sherlock's telephone voice.

"Yes brother?" It was a bored tone.

"No Mr Holmes it's me Molly, can please get me out of this damn flat? If Sherlock threatens to barricade the front door once more I'm going to have to punch him in the throat!" Molly all but yelled. She could hear the amusement in his next few words.

"Oh Doctor Hooper, well it is for your safety."

"Mycroft Holmes, it has been three weeks locked in with your brother and you know you would not have coped, I want out. No, I need out! I need to breathe fresh air, not the left overs of Sherlock's experiments and to see something other than the inside of these walls." Molly knew the desperation was evident in her voice but she held her breath.

"Fine Doctor Hooper, I will send Anthea with a car and I will ring Sherlock to explain that we are allowing you a jaunt to save his life." The phone disconnected and Molly danced her way to the wardrobe.

~M.H~

When Molly looks up at the door of 221b some length of time later, she was considerably more intoxicated than she had been when skipping her way to the black Audi that had pulled up outside her door. It transpired that Anthea knew how to have a good time.

Molly had been gobsmacked to realise she had more in common with the deliberately vague and quiet Anthea than she had with Sherlock. It had been a little awkward when Anthea fitted a wig neatly over Molly's long tresses, pinning her natural hair quickly out of the way before slipping on the new blonde curls. Afterwards though, the awkwardness vanished and Molly thoroughly enjoyed herself. They had spent ages getting lunch in some exclusive club in Mayfair – surprisingly women only – enjoying the various small courses, but Molly was more concerned with the range of tiny desserts that were offered on a silver tray. Who knew you could miniaturise your puddings!?

"What is better… ten miniature puddings or five normal sized ones?" Anthea pondered as she licked the cream from her Eton mess. That started a twenty five minute debate and a heated listing of the top ten desserts a girl could stock in her freezer.

Anthea had swiped Mycroft's credit card for Molly to splurge on a whole range of books which had made the pathologist stammer, saying she was happy to pay for her own – especially as Mycroft footed the food bill but Anthea glared at her until she cheeped her submission. Her arms were aching by the time she had skimmed through three different bookstores. The number of romances she had stocked up on was slightly ridiculous so Anthea had heaped some detective novels on the pile along with a book that Anthea promised Molly was amazing.

"Steampunk isn't my usual choice…" Molly frowned at the pink book but allowed the addition.

"It's a guilty pleasure for me." Anthea shrugged, her own basket of books bulging with the historical fiction, romances and various non-fiction books. "Does Shirley have room on her shelves for your new collections?" Sherlock would really dislike his new codename, casually discussed by 'Milly' and 'Annie'.

"She'll make room or there'll be hassle." Molly grinned. They flumped back into the car after dumping everything in the boot and Anthea whispered something to the chauffeur. "So soon to be seeing the inside of that bloody flat." Molly sighed and Anthea grinned.

"Not yet Molly dearest… First we have one more stop." Anthea waggled her eyebrows holding up a blue dress shirt and a pair of black jeans for Molly to wear.

"Anthea, where are we going?"

"Surprise, but I promise you'll prefer this to the top you've got on now…" Anthea had widened her eyes to look as innocent as possible. For some bizarre reason Molly had elected to trust this mad woman before her; sure she was Mycroft Holmes' personal aid which, in theory meant she was entirely reliable but it was something different that had made Anthea so amicable. Molly realised it was their common interests – despite looking like chalk and cheese they had many shared passions and if one was an amateur enthusiast, like Molly was in History, it would appear that the other was pretty close to an expert, Anthea's History PHD as proof. With this insane, new trust Molly acquiesced and wriggled out of her comfy blue jeans to the black ones and swapped out her shirt and cardigan for the blouse, ready for her surprise.

The surprise turned out to be this amazing bar where Molly downed her way through three shots of vodka, two Sambuca and accepted the cocktail Anthea brought over with a suspicious smile. There might have been nachos after a couple of raspberry vodka and lemonades, she wasn't too sure but all she remembered was Anthea and her dancing away to eighties and nineties music on the dancefloor.

That was how she ended up swaying outside of 221b, blinking up at the light coming from the open door. The curly haired silhouette was actually in his dressing gown and tapping his foot impatiently. Anthea had giggled at seeing Sherlock outlined in the doorway and after mumbling to Molly something about books, stumbled back into the car barefoot leaving Molly to face Sherlock on her own. She stared up at him, eyes wide and neither moved until he sighed, took her by the elbow to lead her back into the flat.

The next morning would see Molly with a killer hangover, refusing to believe that Sherlock had put her to bed tenderly last night (though hazy memories contradicted this belief) and staring incredulously at the new TV in her room.

"You're alive then?" Sherlock said drily from her doorway and Molly groaned at how loud he was. At her inarticulate response, he continued. "I am to understand from my brother that you were having an awful time here and that I was to entertain you if I was to keep you safe. At first I ignored him but as you stayed out longer than I expected I thought maybe for once Mycroft was right. I purchased a new TV so you can watch the football as and when you wish to. I also understand that you spent a rather hefty amount on Mycroft's credit card yesterday at the bookstores so I bought you new bookcases so we no longer have to share…" Sherlock nodded to the other side of the room and Molly rolled enough to see the tall bookcases ready to be filled.

"Thank you." She grunted from the bedcovers.

"Well I'd like to keep you alive…" She raised her head from the pillows as if his simple statement was a cipher to something else. "No-one else will let me in the mortuary at what they call 'weird times'." He shrugged and Molly's head dropped back on the pillow again.

"Thank you Shirley." She groaned as she tried to move over without severe consequences for her head.

"You're welcome Molly." He nodded and even had the grace to shut the door quietly behind him, despite the ridiculous name.

Left in her aching stupor, maybe Sherlock had actually grown a shred of human decency and that maybe being opposites might not be so bad after all.


	10. Cravats

A/N: A request for Guest who wanted a second part to Breeches. It's taken me a fair few months... very sorry.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Sherlock." Molly had her arm looped through his as they strolled across the lawn.

"Yes Molly?" He muttered from the corner of his mouth.

"We have to talk." She hummed back to him and he steered her towards the rose garden, where they were unlikely to be overheard.

Actually Molly had found this re-enactment rather enjoyable. She wouldn't have come alone and Sherlock had made temporary space in his mind palace for everything Austen related while they were at this retreat, so there was plenty for them to talk about with the other visitors. The stately home that had been borrowed for this event was gorgeous, even if Sherlock had booked them in as a couple so they were sharing a room. She had almost enquired if there were any rooms left to be shared by single ladies but then she glimpsed Sherlock's bare back one morning and thought better of it. She wasn't going to get this chance again, why not enjoy it!?

But Cliveden House was beautiful and huge. Molly had taken great delight in spending times between readings and workshops to wander the stately home, in awe at the furnishings and almost crying when she saw the library. That's where Sherlock found her many a time, in the library, curled up in one of the armchairs reading her own paperback novel with her dress spread around her.

Now though, the pair had just finished afternoon tea and were taking a constitutional around the lawns that were dotted with other tourists and Molly had to give voice to the suspicions that had been building for the last few days.

Reaching the rose garden, Molly was entirely glad it was June when this event had taken place. It allowed the shift style dresses to be worn comfortably without a coat and it also meant the roses were starting to flower. The colours had already made her heart sigh as she walked the paths in the mornings, but now Sherlock was steering her towards a bench and gestured for her to sit.

"What's wrong Molly?" Sherlock was frowning at her, his expression concerned and this only strengthened Molly's reservations on the whole situation.

"There's no serial killer is there Sherlock?" She blurted out in a rush, feeling the crimson creeping across her cheeks. When he stared at her for a moment, she realised she let out a short bark of laughter. "Come on Sherlock, when making room in that head of yours." She tapped his forehead lightly. "Did you forget the reason we're out here – chasing a possible serial killer?" She raised her eyebrow at him.

"Serial killer. I remember."

"Mmm, now admit there's no serial killer Sherlock. You haven't deducted once, you've come to every workshop and event here with me, every lunch, dinner and afternoon tea. Normally by now you've grabbed your coat and vanished off leaving me with no idea where you've gone."

"Okay." Sherlock drew out the word and tugged at his cravat. "There's no serial killer."

"Then why are we here?" Molly persisted, confused at the invitation to be here, especially after listening to him every morning, moaning about the clothing he was forced into.

"Because it's made you happy." Sherlock said simply, stalling any further words from Molly's mouth. "After how rotten I've been to you, with everything from saying 'Jim from IT' is gay, to the awfulness that was James Moriarty and then to your help for me faking my death and keeping everyone you know and love in the dark about the truth…I decided you needed something from me that made you smile." Sherlock almost seemed a little rushed by his speech, and blinked in surprise, as if he couldn't believe the words had come from his mouth.

"Ah." Molly had flushed to the roots of her hair but they were stopped from anything else by the appearance of another guest at the entrance to the rose garden.

"Young love is such a beautiful thing to witness." Mrs Tremaine, suitably attired as a widowed matron of the times was looking fondly at the pair on the bench. She nodded to them, and continued into the rose garden with a smile.

It would only be later, after dinner that Molly decided she had the courage to bring the subject back up with Sherlock. Maybe it was because of the three glasses of wine that she had had with the scrumptious meal in the dining room but as he unlaced her evening dress – something the pair coped with remarkably well – Molly turned to him and kissed him on the lips. Her eyes opened wide, before darting behind the screen to change into her pyjamas. She had planned to talk to him, where had the kiss come from?! She was berating herself continuously as she pulled off her dress and tugged on her modern pyjamas.

Silence reigned as the pair took in the kiss and when Molly finally emerged, her eyes trained on the carpet, Sherlock crossed the room in two quick strides, tilted her head to look at him and kissed her back.

"Don't think." He whispered suddenly.

"That's funny coming from you." She choked out and he smiled softly.

"Don't think. Just kiss me."

"Okay." She closed her eyes once more and was ecstatic to feel his lips press to hers once more.

Sod it, Elizabeth Bennett would probably despair at her again but Molly was far too happy to care.


	11. Sappho

A/N: When I originally started, I aimed for it to be longer... but it didn't quite pan out that way! So have a little period!lock Mollene (Ireolly?!) ... it's a 19c Molly and Irene piece!

Enjoy!

* * *

"Holmes is being a naughty boy again." Molly sighed as she lounged on her four poster bed. Her lover and best friend was sat at her vanity staring into the looking glass. The blue eyes flicked from her own reflection to that of Molly, spread eagled on the bed and there was a smile playing in them.

Lady Adler and Lady Hooper often courted scandal in such a restricted world – the misogynistic world they lived in would never cope knowing the two women were lovers. There were rumours, inklings, whispers but nothing neither concrete nor solid. They often spent months abroad on the continent, travelling, avoiding the suffocating society that tried to keep them on a short leash.

For now however they were in Molly's home in Bath, a modest place with just over 12 bedrooms. They had taken on a new servant and he was providing a vast amount of entertainment for the scandalous pair. They enjoyed watched the new man play at servant, for they knew exactly who Sherlock Holmes really was. They may travel and they may be women but they were neither stupid nor ignorant; Sherlock Holmes was a detective. A budding detective in his early stages of fame but he was a plant in their household. Their suspicions rested on his elder brother, a tubby gentleman in the lower ranks of the government with large ambitions.

"Holmes is always a naughty boy." Irene turned on her vanity stool to allow her gaze to rake over Molly's form on the emerald covers. "Green does wonderful things to your skin tone." Irene smiled and held back a laugh when Molly snorted.

"Nice try darling but we both know you're the looks in this partnership."

"Does that mean I am not the brains?" Irene pouted.

"Not in comparison to me." Molly pulled herself upright and stared at her lover. There was hunger in both of the women's eyes but before they could move towards one another there was a creak outside their door.

A knowing look and a lengthy pause allowed their spy to escape; he would feign nonchalance later. They would have to come up with a plan to deal with their naughty serving man and then they would catch him.

Checking the door Irene crossed back into the room and gazed at Molly now supine on the bed.

"Unlace my stays?" The auburn haired woman said from the mound of pillows she was buried in.

"Any time my love." Irene practically ripped the lacing from their eyelets in a bid to divest her beloved of her restrictive material.

"I said only unlace my stays, not strip me bare woman." Molly raised one eyebrow as Irene slowly drew the fabric apart, her long fingers trailed between her lover's breasts.

"It's a woman's prerogative to hear what she wants." Irene purrs and the two are lost in a tangle of torn fabrics and tight corsets.


	12. Enchanted

A/N: Okay this is quite long but I hope you bear with it.

Enjoy!

* * *

She had watched her sisters' dance, enchant and ensnare men. They kissed and caressed the hapless strangers before driving them mad with want. This was the life for those that lived in infamous springs of Aphrodite.

Molly was the youngest and arguably the plainest of the nymphs. If you had placed her in any mortal society she would be an outstanding woman, snapped up by any man rich enough to buy her freedom but while she was surrounded by her beautiful sisters she did not shine.

She moved to her own pool. Her sisters were not spiteful or cruel and they lamented the loss of Molly, they did not like losing her because they loved her so much. The quietest of the nymphs, who was prone to hanging back towards the cascade of water rather than enchant a foolish traveller was a good hearted sister and always ready to help and listen. She was adored by all of them and despite some persuading, Molly moved to her own spring on the other side of the hill. Not far from them, but far enough to give her independence.

The eldest of the sisters knew that Molly had never quite fitted in with them for one very special reason; Molly was made for love. Sure, she had partaken in the conquests that others relished but Irene knew that the Fates had given Molly a rather special path. Irene knew that her littlest sister would find love in a traveller where she would only see lust and a kill, and that was why she did not begrudge Molly a rather tasty stranger that changed his path before he hit the pools boundaries, stumbling towards Molly instead of Irene.

Dark haired and red faced from exhaustion, Sherlock sat at the edge of the pool and panted. The heat made his head whirl and he cupped the water from the spring. Taking great mouthfuls and uncaring whether the water ended on his body or not, he eventually rolled onto his stomach to stick his head beneath the waterline.

Molly meanwhile has been hiding behind an olive tree, watching the gorgeous man in front of her. She was in the middle of a dilemma on how to announce herself. She could, if she wished, slip into the water unnoticed and rise up at a convenient point or she could walk from behind the tree. Something strange happened and her brain thought first option, her body went with the second option.

Sherlock had just surfaced for air when his water covered eyes focused on the young beauty before him. His fevered brain finally deducted he was at the infamous Springs and he groaned aloud. To think he had been foolish enough to stumble upon a nymphs nest. Watching her, she was slim but shorter than the stories dictated and Sherlock was temporarily fascinated with the long chestnut hair that flowed down her shoulders, over the knots of the simple white dress.

"Please nymph I have no wish to be killed." He began warily, starting to stand, as if he was to run from the woods as fast as his aching legs would carry him.

Molly opened her mouth but as she made eye contact, the words already formulated, vanished from her mind. She could suddenly feel the burn that her sisters had described. The **want** consuming her and her eyes narrowed as he began to leave. Moving with an inhuman speed she had ducked into the water, shedding her clothes before she reached him at the edge of the pool.

Still in the process of finding his tired feet Sherlock fell back in shock at the sudden intimacy the nymph had created he could only stare at her, bewildered.

"Don't leave traveller. You are tired and need to rest here." She whispered, her words almost compelling him until he shakes his head and her words lose effect.

"You're enchanting me." He whispers horrified.

"I… well…" The nymph before him blushed scarlet and without another word she turned away from him and ducked beneath the water, disappearing into the darker corners. Sherlock gaped at the now empty pool, staggered to his feet and ran with energy he didn't know he had.

Irene who had been hiding behind a cypress tree let her head fall against the trunk with a thunk. Only Molly could run away and hide at the sight of this gorgeous stranger. Fine, the girl was going to force her hand. Molly had to be blind to see that the Fates had offered this yummy man up to the nymphs and well Irene always had a protective streak when it came to her youngest sister.

~S.H~

Sherlock had found sanctuary in a small tavern at the edge of the city of Neo Chorio. Feeling more than exhausted he quickly paid for his lodging for a night before scarfing the dinner the tavern keeper handed him and fell into bed.

He had no conscious desire to ruminate on the mysterious creature at the spring and yet his dreams were plagued by her. A waterfall, her naked body hidden by the water, his vision clouded when she stepped from it, oh this wasn't fair and as Sherlock rolled over there was a tightening at his groin. No-one saw Irene at his window, a soft kiss blown in the direction of his sleeping form.

~S.H~

He had been chased from Neo Chorio after insulting the leader of the small village but Sherlock had been able to escape the mob that were apparently baying for his blood. Until he realised he had been herded to the nymphs nest again. Hmm maybe the citizens of Neo Chorio had been smarter than he gave them credit for. That would explain their seemingly clean record of punishing people, as it would appear that they sent them towards the murderous nymphs.

Sherlock had been so busy thinking on the slyness of the villagers that he was unaware of his surroundings. He didn't realise he was back at the lone pool he had drank from until he was falling into it. Sputtering for air as he surfaced, he glared at the fallen cypress branch but the nymphs were now a greater concern. His brain, so usually well-ordered had just helpfully supplied the tale of Acteon as the chestnut haired nymph from yesterday stepped out of the tree line once more.

"Back again?" Molly was feeling brave today. She watched curiously as he hauled himself out of the pool, she was distracted by the rivulets of water running down his body but the words from his lips snapped her attention back to his face.

"By the Gods I have no wish to be here."

"It may be that one particular Goddess has a wish for you to be here." She smiled at him, and Sherlock noted that she was still lingering in the shade of the trees, as if wary of the man before her.

"Artemis is the virginal hunter, why would she want a man here?" He almost scoffed but quickly remembered his predicament and held back any scorn.

"These are not the pools that saw Acteon being eaten by his own hounds." The stranger looked confused so Molly continued. "These are the Springs of Aphrodite." She stepped into the full light to appraise her newcomer.

"Love is for fools. Men weakened by sentiment lose their rationality and kingdoms fall at such emotion." His words brought forth Molly's fury. It stemmed any want she had for this dark haired stranger and she crossed the clearing in a blur of colour. He tried to stumble away from the edge of the water as quickly as possible but there was no point as Molly grabbed his ankle and hauled him swiftly into cool water once more. She effortlessly pinned him against the rocky edge, while he thrashed the water around them into foam, but he subsided as he caught her glittering look – her eyes alight with anger.

"Never disrespect Aphrodite." Her words were soft. "Do you understand?" She watched the hesitation in his eyes but he dipped his head in acquiescence. "Good boy. Now shall I teach you the importance of Aphrodite?" She whispered with a shy smile. Before Sherlock could open his mouth to question her, her lips pressed delicately against his and she loosed him from her pinning grip to pull him into a searing kiss. Momentarily stunned by the turn of events Sherlock felt his body responding to her before his mind could and his freed arms wrapped around the nymphs waist, drawing her in closer.

Molly had never had this feeling running through her body before when she had kissed a man; her limbs felt like they were aflame, as though Zeus' lightning was running the length of her body, making every sensation three hundred times more powerful. The stranger had locked his hands around her waist, one hand trailing up her soaked dress. Her own fingers were tearing at the sopping fabric of his travelling clothes, shredding the material in her haste. She almost stopped kissing him when his chest was bared to her appraising eyes.

She moved at his whine and the pair pulled back, the momentary spell broken between them.

"What did you do to me nymph?" Sherlock's words may have been harsh but his tone was anything but. There was almost wonder and awe in his voice; he was staring at her as if she was the most precious thing in the world and Molly was staring back at him in equal fascination.

"Nothing." She said simply, as his hands ran up and down her arms. "I have not used a single enchantment on you."

He is devouring her with his eyes and she can almost see the thoughts dashing through his head, decisions being made and unmade as he rifles through his choices. Then he shrugs and kisses her suddenly.

"Then I wish to right the wrong I made in offending Aphrodite…" His words, while awkward elicit the right response in the nymph before him and she is kissing him jubilantly.

Indeed Sherlock soon found that the nymphs of Aphrodite were utterly enchanting and he learnt never to disrespect the goddess again. He might have been persuaded to leave thanks at her temple instead - if he ever tore himself away from his nymph to get to a temple. As he had crudely said to Molly; he preferred to communicate with the goddess through Molly's delightful body.


	13. Penguin Suit

A/N: It's a pairing that plays around in my head quite often - I have a weakness for the Robert Downey Jr version of Moran and it's usually him that I think of.

Enjoy this naughty one shot!

* * *

Sebastian Moran had an interesting relationship with Irene Adler. He had first been told to watch her; Moriarty hadn't trusted the minx in his home while the criminal mastermind was called to a meeting with a president. It had been various softly spoken jibes meeting stoic silence until Irene had stood to leave the library and then he had grunted out a 'stop.' When she continued to cross the room, he stood and in three quick strides had her back pressed against the bookshelves while he glared down at her. She had simply smiled up at him, her eyes tempting, accusing and mocking him all in one heady glare.

They had kissed.

It had been a searing scorching kiss that knocked both of these usually guarded individuals for six. Neither had expected such a response from an act that was so basic. It had unsettled each of them when they drew back for air. But Moran stepped away from her and each calmed their breathing facing away from the other.

It had only escalated as they came into contact more and more - Jim had made Sebastian Irene's personal guard. He had been willing to forgo his sniper while Irene wormed her way into the edges of Mycroft's circles, infiltrating the functions as Sebastian watched her work through his scope while he hunkered down on cold rooftops.

Now though, their relationship tangled into the heady passion that had ignited at their first kiss. They were in a random room in Jim's mansion and Irene was jacking Seb off on the sofa. His breathing had stuttered and stalled when fingers outlined his member, even through the trouser material. He turned to face her with such a heated look in his eyes that even Irene had drawn an unsteady breath. At first she had hated that she, _The Dominatrix_ had been knocked askew by this coarse military man, but as they plunged further into this sensual abyss, Irene found that she relished the instability of it all.

She had spent most of the evening at James Moriarty's function, purring in Seb's ear a whole range of filthy things. But it seemed the sniper had been affected more by the innocent compliments on his "penguin suit". That was his name for the white tie get up he'd been forced into. She'd been dropping the praise for seeing him in the smart attire all evening, which would have earned anyone else a bullet through the head – but when it was coupled with Adler's _looks_ , Seb felt the heat flare in his belly.

In the end, Irene, who was now bored with the function made a beeline for James. He'd just finished with a diplomat of some level and turned to the minx with a gleam in his eye.

"I'm going to fuck your sniper senseless, do you care if we leave?" She whispered in his ear, missing the look of delight that crossed his features.

"By all means darling, do enjoy. Seb looks like he'll combust if he has to wear that bowtie for any longer. Work some of the tension out of him poppet." He grins and with a delicate wave of her fingers she bids her employer goodnight and takes Seb from the room.

That was how they ended up in this moment, with Irene's wicked grin taunting Seb into doing something more. Which he duly did. In that pause where they stared at each other, Irene was amazed to read the heat in his eyes, pinning a look on her that made her stop for a moment. It was a long enough stop, for him to push her hand away, grab her waist, haul her in closer and kiss as though his life depended on it. With every movement of his lips, she read the urgency and desperation in his kiss, and unusually it didn't make her feel smug and victorious… it made her hungry. In her split second decision, Irene offered her submission to the rough sniper and despite the need flaring between the two of them, he pressed her gently back into the sofa. His hands traced up dove grey silk to circle one breast and his head bent to wet the fabric, leaving a damp stain as his mouth traced to the other breast. She arched into his touch, realising how long it had been since she allowed a man control of her pleasure and hooked one leg around his waist, drawing his hips closer to hers.

A low chuckle brought her eyes to him and she pouted when he seemed intent on teasing.

She had already snagged the bow tie free when they crept into the room, she had pushed the expensive coat to the floor and had hastily undone the waistcoat and his trousers. Enough for her to tease him anyway. Now though, while beneath him, she loosened the stiff buttons the white shirt and ran her nails across his chest.

"Get me out of this damn penguin suit woman." He growled, his kisses now beneath her ear eliciting shivers down her side.

"Yes sir." She purred.

~I.A~

"Would you believe that my sniper has some new interesting welts across his back Irene dearest?" Jim was taking tea with The Woman on the veranda a couple of days after his big function.

"Oh really?" She barely looked up from a distant spot on the horizon. Not wanting to mention the bruises that Seb had left across his hips where he had held her so tightly she opted for an air of nonchalance.

"Mmm, like nail marks I would believe." She could hear the laughter in his voice and she cracked a look at him.

"Glad to see my marks remain." She said simply as James Moriarty still laughed.

"I'm going to put him in what he calls a penguin suit again if he's always that efficient afterwards." James followed Irene's gaze out to the shooting range where they both knew Seb would be at this time of the morning.

"He'll kill someone unnecessarily…" She said drily, nibbling the end of a biscuit.

"He does that anyway." James shrugged. "More tea?"


	14. Experiments

A/N: So on one of my quiet moments I went on a word generator and got: Punch, Gorilla, Project and I decided to set it up as a Uni!lock story.

Enjoy!

* * *

Molly was halfway through her experiment when there was an almighty crash from the hallway outside. After having almost spilt the corrosive acid which she now placed on the table she stuck her head out of the door way to see two boys bellowing at one another.

Bellowing was definitely the right word; the shorter guy had his hands balled into his fists and was shouting every form of obscenity he could possibly muster whilst the taller man simply glared back at him.

"I want access to the lab." The calmer guy stated. Well Molly had thought he was calm but every word was punctuated with such ferocious venom he clearly hadn't ignored his companion's diatribe.

"You stole one of the specimens Sherlock!" The shorter one was seething with anger, anger he clearly wanted to manifest by blacking the other guy's eye.

"John come on." 'Sherlock' was now trying to placate the other man. "We're roommates…"

"I'm your roommate who has to explain to the head of Biomedicine why there is one of the pickled feet missing!"

"It was for an experiment!" Sherlock said heatedly. Molly was agog at the spectacle before her; this was the man that had sent Professor Horton into an almost apoplectic rage when he discovered one of his precious specimens was missing. She vaguely recognised John Watson, a med student a year or so above her but the dark curly haired guy was a stranger. A cute stranger at that. Okay cute wasn't the right word, sophisticated, handsome, alluring. They could all apply to the physique of the student that was now nursing a black eye.

"Damn it Sherlock! You've ruined my project because the specimen you stole was something I was working on!" John hissed and for the first time, Molly thought she saw something akin to remorse flicker across this Sherlock's face. "You are studying law Sherlock – it's your own damn fault for not picking chemistry like your brother told you to!" John raged.

"Well I still need access to the lab." Sherlock sulked and Molly winced as John launched another punch at him again. This time the pair went down fighting and Molly huffed. She'd have to go and be a good Samaritan and break the pair up before old Horton came out of his office and caught them fighting.

"Stop!" She screeched as she ran closer to the fight. John, at the sound of a female voice, stopped fighting his companion, allowing the dark haired man to get in another punch. "I said stop! How dare the pair of you behave so foolishly!" Molly was uncharacteristically mad. Talk about ruined experiments – her own would probably be a mess by the time she broke these idiots up. "Stop behaving like a pair of gorillas and go and finish this argument elsewhere!" She hissed, straightening her labcoat (which always hung off one shoulder) she turned with a huff back to the small lab she was working in. But she was stopped by a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, can I have access to the lab you're working in?" The baritone voice made her pause but then she digested his words and scowled.

"Now I can see why he punched you." She growled, shaking his hand off, going through the door and slamming it shut on his face. "What a creep." She grumbled, flicking it locked and hurrying back to her own experiment, which thankfully was not ruined and she would still be able to pass the term. She resolved not to think of the beautiful law student with a knack for science and instead put her mind to her own course work. She had experiments to do.


	15. Pumpkin Spice

A/N: Hahhahahaha I know I have requests to write and research for MA to do but I thought have this little Autumnal fluffball!

Enjoy!

* * *

Sherlock had never cared much for the average person's holiday traditions.

But Molly Hooper in autumn was adorable. He hated to admit but the thought of her in her autumn hat made him smile. Even if there was a stupid bobble on the top of it.

She would take him out for lunch at St Barts, grab coffee from the nearest chain store and then they would walk through the nearest park while she inhaled her pumpkin spice latte and devoured her chocolate muffin. He'd say nothing when she marvelled at the leaves changing or when she'd jump through them like a child. As more fell with each day, he'd find himself sat on a bench holding two cups while she built up a pile of orange and red leaves before running amok through them.

As Halloween arrived, Sherlock found himself elbow deep in orange guts, wondering just how little Hooper had convinced him to do this. But sure enough, there at the end of an hour sat two large pumpkins, one with a goofy face, and the other with a rather unusual volcano carved into it.

She'd asked him why the volcano and Sherlock had primly told her that it was to use the guts as lava… which he did. She'd chuckled, swept the remaining pumpkin innards into a bag and then cheekily flicked a spoonful of them at his face. Sherlock had never foreseen his mousey pathologist lobbing pumpkin at him and stood there shocked for a full thirty seconds while she stood giggling in the corner of the kitchen. He turned slowly to face her and raised one eyebrow. She was biting her lips to stop the laughter spilling forth and very slowly he stepped forwards.

She watched with baited breath as stuck his hand in the bag full of pumpkin and pulled out a handful.

"Sherlock …" She warned, eyeing his moving hand but she never got a chance to finish her threat as quick as a flash he smeared it across her head.

That was how they got into possibly the messiest pumpkin fight in history. Molly was still finding pumpkin seeds in her kitchen after Christmas.

Then it was Firework Night that Molly made him celebrate next. She stood on the edge of a Common back at her family home with sparklers. She'd lit them carefully for her nieces and nephews before handing Sherlock two.

"What?"

"Shush Sherlock and hold them out." Molly ordered, flicking her already lit sparkler to Sherlock's, the tips of which fizzed into green and gold light. "Draw your name!" She carolled, dancing across the grass spelling out Molly and drawing love hearts in the dark. Feeling somewhat foolish Sherlock did the same. Molly didn't miss the small smile that graced his face as he drew complex patterns until the sparklers died out.

But it would be the fireworks that made him smile the most. He stood there with Molly shivering in the cold waiting for some community group to light the first firework when she curled up against his side. At first he tensed, unsure of why Molly was suddenly so much closer, but by the Grand Finale of fireworks, he had his arms wrapped around her as she stood in front of him.

His epiphany didn't really come until he was away on a case with John and had taken a photo of a vital piece of evidence. When he threw his iPhone to John and told him to find the picture he was perturbed at how long it took the other man. It turns out it was because his friend was looking through his camera roll and finding a new batch of Molly selfies. There was; Molly in her daft bobble hat, Molly with her pumpkin spice coffee, Molly taking one capturing Sherlock looking grumpy in the background while she looked something akin to a cheerfully deranged elf. More followed in the lines of; Sherlock covered head to toe in pumpkin, Sherlock with holding unlit sparklers looking unamused, Sherlock with lit sparklers looking very amused and a blurry picture of the grand finale of fireworks.

"So…"

"So, I like Molly in the autumn." Sherlock said almost indifferently.

"She isn't a seasonal pet Sherlock." John reminded him and the taller man huffed.

"I am aware of this." He sniffed but seemed to frown. "The butler did it, I have to go back to London." Without another word, Sherlock swept out of the hotel and was on the first train back to London.

As it would be told to all and sundry in the following weeks, Sherlock swept into St Barts, found Molly in the lab and proceeded to kiss the very breath from her body. When Mrs Hudson asked Molly a few months later how exactly she broke the detective's emotionless state, she would answer that it was the pumpkin spice that did it.


	16. Gingerbread Latte

A/N: A follow up for the previous chapter. Enjoy this wintery little cuddle bun.

* * *

If Sherlock thought he was falling in love with Molly Hooper in the autumn, he was well and truly besotted with her by the winter.

The hat hadn't changed – still cream and grey with the bobble on the top and the ear flaps, but her scarf was now a thick grey woollen one that she pulled up over the mouth to keep herself warm as she battled the icy British wind. She was wrapped up in so many layers she looked like the Michelin Man, much to his amusement and she was clutching another cup of festive coffee while rosy cheeked with cold.

That was as Sherlock scrolled his camera roll once more. He found Molly in woollen bed socks, thick pyjamas and a festive jumper as she wrapped family Christmas presents. He had snapped that photo as she sat cross legged on the floor off 221b Baker Street, concentrating on trying to stick the sellotape down without having a fight with the roll (unsuccessfully he may add). The next photo was one Molly had taken, after she had wrapped him in the fairy lights she would then string around 221b, but before they found places on the wall she had swaddled Sherlock in the garishly bright bulbs. She looked super pleased with herself, again Sherlock had to muse, she looked like an elf while the Grinch that he was, was in the photo looking very unhappy with his situation.

He skimmed through a few more photos - lots of Molly selfies from the different places they had gone to… corrections, places he had been dragged along to. Though the Christmas Market photo made his breath hitch a little; he had finally agreed to a selfie and he and Molly stood before the giant tree in the market square looking quite lovely. She looked adorable as always, but he grudgingly admitted it was a good photo. He smiled at the memory of the day, he had made Molly drink mulled wine rather than one of her flavoured coffees that day and she had grinned in delight at the taste of it, so much so that the next day, the pair of them had made their own.

He put his phone down on the side of the armchair for a moment and looked around his usually drab little flat. Previously, John had put up a few lights and tinsel, to try and make 221b seem a little more festive but this year his flat had taken a positive battering from Santa's Head Elf. Molly Hooper had bustled into his home with armfuls of tinsel and baubles and garlands of lights and holly wreaths and mistletoe bunches and positively bulldozed over his complaints.

There was scarcely a bare patch of wall left, everything had been festooned with Christmas paraphernalia. Sherlock briefly glowered at how long Lestrade had laughed for but when Molly came in with her arms full of party food, the policeman had congratulated her on a job well done. Then he took the platters from her overladen grasp and helped her lay out the food. Molly had insisted on throwing a Christmas party for all of their friends (hers outnumbered his) but Sherlock had bore it with considerable grace.

That had been yesterday on Christmas Eve and now it was Christmas Day and it was just Molly and Sherlock celebrating. John and Mary with little Grace would be over later in the day but for now it was just the two of them. He was pulled out of his reverie by the noise of Molly's rather tuneless singing; it was okay, he could say that now without feeling an iota of guilt that he was being mean. Molly was tuneless and he'd heard her often enough to love her for it anyway.

"Oh I wish it could be Christmas everyyy daaaaaaay." She danced her way into the lounge, clocked Sherlock still sitting and aimed her wiggles towards him. "But the carrots neeed peeling anyywaaaaay." He snorted as she changed the lyrics "I wish it could be Christmas every daaaaay. But Sherlock would annoy meee all the waaaaaayyy. Because he doesn't help in the kitchen, what do you saaaaaay." She raised one eyebrow before standing on her tip toes to kiss him. "Yet I love him every day." She murmured her last words and he grinned down at her.

"I love you too. Now shall we cook?" He nodded to the kitchen behind her.

"Yes, but I cook you're the commis chef so hup to Mr Holmes, we're expecting your brother, Anthea, John, Mary and Grace by four."

"They're coming for dinner?!" Sherlock was suddenly aghast.

"Yes you daft man… you know for a detective you really should learn to observe more." She stuck her tongue out before slapping his behind. "Kitchen, move now, the parsnips are not going to prepare themselves."

"How did you convince Mycroft to come?" Sherlock was still flabbergasted at the might of the woman before him – by the sounds of it she had taken on the British Government and won.

"Oh Anthea and I worked it all out." She grinned rather wickedly and Sherlock had to smile, Mycroft really had no chance against the power of Anthea and Molly. "And I bribed him with gingerbread lattes and mulled wine. Your parents would've been coming but they're somewhere around the Bahamas right now." Sherlock shuddered at the thought of having his whole family together but smiled down at his large hearted girlfriend.

"I really do love you." He whispered.

"I love you too, now get in that kitchen and start working Holmes. The puppy dog eyes are not getting you out of helping, the turkey's been on for ages and they'll be here soon enough." She quirked her brow and he snorted again.

"Yes Ma'am." He saluted and disappeared into the kitchen.


	17. Feel Them

A/N: Little bit naughty. Stolen from HIMYM Lily's 50 Reasons to Have Sex. Enjoy!

* * *

"Feel them!" Molly's command had Sherlock temporarily stymied. He was looking through his microscope when Molly's voice broke his reverie. He sighed, he'd brought a case file home and he had thought Molly would leave him be this afternoon, clearly that was not the case.

"What are you on about Hooper?" He refused to take his eyes from the slide until he felt Molly's hand knot into his curls and pull him away. His eyes shot to hers in anger but his mouth suddenly became very dry and his words died on his lips. "What is this in aid of?" He asked his girlfriend who had a rather sultry smile across her face and very little else on.

"Feel my legs!" She ordered and Sherlock obediently raised his hand to the expanse of bare skin revealed to him. The silky smoothness met by his touch made her smile. He made her gasp by letting his fingers continue their path upwards, veering past her knee, up her thigh straight to her sex. She moaned as his fingers worked against the fabric of her knickers and her grip tightened on his curls.

"Very nice." He purred and he slid from the chair he'd been sat in to kneel on the floor before her. His free hand slid back down the leg that had been raised for his touch and gently he lifted it over his shoulder. He glanced up with a wicked smile on his face, noting the hazy lust that had clouded Molly's eyes before he pressed his lips to the fabric of her underwear.

"Sherlock." She whined but he paid little attention, he deftly moved aside the lacy material and slid one digit across her nether lips.

"If I rip this underwear what will you do?" He mumbled against her sex, grunting slightly when her fingers tangled in his curls once more.

"You won't get to come later." She moaned then grumbled as he pulled back away from her, setting her foot on the floor once more.

"Well if that's the case they're going to have to come off." He smirked and promptly pulled down the purple lace. But she squealed as he swept her up in his arms and bore her off to the bedroom, laying her down on the sheets before jumping up and joining her there.

"Sherlock." She sighed as he moved back towards her once more. His mouth pressed against her sex, his tongue flicking out before he pulled away to lightly bite her thighs. She let out a soft sigh as he switched legs before peppering kisses from one knee up, over her pubic bone and back down to her other knee. She let out a whine of frustration, which he dutifully ignored and repeated the action while she wriggled beneath him.

As her frustration mounted, she was quickly distracted as he pressed his tongue to her clit once more.

"Ohh." Her satisfied noises almost made him laugh but he was soon focused solely on making Molly moan his name as loudly as possible. Which he did very, very well. He was determined to tease her, his actions were slow and gentle, building in pressure as she groaned beneath his tongue. He had learnt during their relationship what worked best for Molly and as he slid one finger inside of her and curled the digit while he sucked her clit hard she shattered beneath him ministrations.

Hours later, over dinner he'd quiz her as to why she shaved her legs in the middle of December (which was normally a stubbly period, she had once seriously told him).

"So we'd have sex." She grinned before eating more of her pasta.


	18. Calculation

A/N: Silly little oneshot of the Baker Street Boys! Enjoy this Sherlolly little ficlet

* * *

"No John we can't rely on Molly." Sherlock hummed into his mobile phone as he quickly ran through the people he could call in his head to look after Rosie. The case that he and John were being called to was at least an eight, if not a nine and Rosie would definitely need a sitter for this one.

"Why can't we rely on Molly? Is she in work?" John's voice came down the phone.

"No she's been throwing up all morning."

"All morning?"

"Yes, all morning John pay attention. I know there's been a new strain of stomach bug circulating." Sherlock was still running over the problem of Rosie's sitter as John laughed down the phone.

"Sherlock…"

"What, why are you laughing?" He had decided Mrs Hudson might be relied upon if they coaxed her enough and promised to hoover but John had utterly distracted him.

"When you work it out Sherlock, please do tell me. I'll take Rosie round to Mrs Hudson and if you're desperate I'm sure she'll explain why your girlfriend is heaving over a toilet bowl." John snorted and hung up and Sherlock stared blankly at his phone screen for about thirty seconds before there was a moment of sudden, awful clarity.

"Oh fuck." He cursed and with that hailed the first cab he found and promised the driver an extra 25% if he made it as fast as possible. When he hurtled up the stairs into Molly's flat, finding her looking incredibly wan and rather sorry for herself he stopped in the doorway and locked eyes with her.

"You know for a genius detective you're really rather dense." She grumbled but stayed rooted to the spot.

"I know I am." He offers an apologetic look. "I'm sorry."

"I know and I love you." She sighs.

"I love you too." He steps across the room and wraps her in his arms.

"Now go sort the case, I'm not moving too far from the bathroom anyway."


	19. Barbie Girl

A/N: Please tell me I'm not the only one who listened to Barbie Girl by Aqua?! Smut shot.

* * *

'What on earth is she listening to?' Sherlock's thoughts were disrupted by the music.

"I'm a blonde bimbo girl in a fantasy world, dress me up, make it tight I'm your dolly." Molly's wail was the second thing to assault his senses as he entered her flat. Her awful singing to her equally awful music made him wince.

He paused at the threshold in curiosity and was frozen to the spot as he paid more attention.

"Make me walk, make talk do whatever you please, I can act like a star I can beg on my knees." Sherlock's brain flooded with images, quite of its own accord as he digested Molly's words. Glorious images of Doctor Hooper on her knees begging for him. Sherlock shook his head furiously to dispel the images but Molly seemed intent not to help him.

"You can touch, you can play if you say I'm always yours." Sherlock's mind was determined to pay attention to Molly's infernal singing and provide accompaniment to her words. Molly begging to be undressed, then her naked form writhing beneath his questing tongue, all thoughts Sherlock willingly entertained. But he was rapidly pulled from his delightful daydreams by the appearance of the said sinful siren.

"Sherlock!" She said brightly. "I didn't hear you arrive! Tea? Coffee?" She bustled off blissfully ignorant of his inner turmoil while he was eternally grateful for the billowing nature of his Belstaff.

"What are _you_ listening to?" He swept into her kitchen, maintaining a haughty composure while clutching the front of his coat closed.

"It's only 90s pop music Sherlock." She said distractedly; she was focused on retrieving Sherlock's favourite mug ('I don't have a _favourite_ mug, this is the only acceptable cup in that horror you call a cupboard, I can't be drinking coffee out of a mug with hearts on it.'). Sherlock now couldn't keep his eyes off her as she completed such an innocuous task – she was stretching up on her tiptoes to grab at the cup from the top shelf and her shirt had ridden up, baring her midriff and Sherlock felt his lust spike again.

He was on his feet and stood close behind her before he was consciously aware of moving and Molly cheeped when his hands slid over the revealed skin.

"Sherlock?" She let out a small sigh and then a gasp as he kissed her neck.

"Molly…?" She heard the panic flood in his voice and quickly she made a decision.

"Don't think." She demanded, spinning in his embrace. "Kiss me."

She watched the hesitation flicker across his face but she let out a satisfied smile as he bent down to kiss her once more.

"What do you want?" He murmured to her, reaching over to yank her ipod out of its speakers.

"Only you Sherlock." She purred beneath his touch. "Now stop talking and kiss me Holmes." He meekly bowed his head to the good Doctor and pressed his lips to hers once more, feeling her arms twine around his neck, her body stretch against him and he noted the lift of her form onto her tiptoes in order to reach him properly. Well their height difference was always going to be noticeable, but it was easily fixable. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her onto the counter, greatly appreciating the squeak that slipped from her mouth.

"Touch me." He whispered hoarsely. "Please."

She obliged, sliding her arms from his neck to the front of, pushing aside the fabric of his coat to trail her touch over his chest. He never thought that the infernal song would be the catalyst for his actions with Molly Hooper. His mind was spinning into disarray at what his body was doing without his mind's permission. His hands were wandering over Molly's form, taking in every contour of this new landscape and for a moment he was scared. He was in out of his depth and he didn't know what to do, but then he realised with conviction that it was Molly he held in an intimate embrace and it was Molly that was tracing patterns over his shirt. It was _Molly_.

~S.H~

It was there as she lay beneath him, her face open, the lust written clear across his features that he paused. He was really doing this, this was actually happening.

"Sherlock are you okay?" She murmurs, cupping his face in her hand. "We don't have to do this." She whispers and without warning he's kissing her hard, pressing her back into the pillows.

"I want to, I want you." He says with conviction when he draws back and she smiles up at him. There's a hint of concern still lingering in her eyes but she's leaning up into him, kissing him again, exploring his mouth with her tongue while one hand slides up his chest to curl around the back of his neck.

She's distracting him, soothing any fears that remain, winding herself around him while he hovers above her. But he's kissing her back with as much enthusiasm, and feels himself press against her entrance.

"Are you ready?" He whispers against her lips and she nods frantically. Molly can't help the sigh that escapes her lips as he slides into her. Her eyes close and she presses the length of her body upwards, against his firm form. He grunts in surprise at her actions, feeling the flare of heat run through his body as one leg wraps around his hips and he moves his hips slowly.

"Oh Sherlock." She whines and he's spurred on by the sound of his name. It begins to fall as a litany from her lips as he thrusts into her again and again. He's startled by the rocketing of endorphins in his body, it's better than any high heroin had ever given him, it was startling, electric, addictive. He needed more.

"Sherlock fuck please, please please. Don't stop." She begs, her body writhing underneath him and he's growling her name now. He reaches between them blindy, desperate to make her come before he falls apart and he knows he's close. He vaguely feels her nails biting into his back, her teeth nipping his ear lobe, he can hear her gasp and moan, her hips move disjointedly against his and suddenly she lets out a long moan while her body tenses beneath his.

"Fuck." He gasps out as she whines his name again. He buries his head in the crook of her neck and shudders as his release rolls through him. He lets out a soft cry as her arms wrap around his back.

They take a moment, caught in the embrace as they come down from their respective highs. Their sweat slicked bodies curled against one another as the real world knocks in their fogged minds.

"Molly." He whispers hoarsely into her neck and feels her shiver against him.

"Ticklish spot sorry." She laughs slightly as he draws back. The tenderness in her eyes stops him and he leans back towards her for another kiss, this time slow and gentle. "I'm also gonna shiver when you…hem." She nods down to where they are still joined.

"Ah of course." He sounded much more like Sherlock and Molly was sorry to lose the intimacy as he slipped from her.

The awkwardness quickly settled in as he sat at the edge of the bed, dealing with the condom and Molly took an initiative, again. She knelt up beside him and kissed him on the shoulder, then trailed kisses along to his neck, he obediently tipped his head to the side, giving her better room and she pepper small kisses along the pale skin.

"Come to bed Sherlock." She murmurs in his ear and with a smile he slides beneath the covers with her, glorying in the strange turn of an afternoon.

~S.H~

Much later, after a busted down door courtesy of Mary Watson, several harried apologies from John Watson and a realisation of many missed calls, Molly would make dinner while Sherlock stared at her.

"Stop it." She muttered, slapping him on the hand as he reached for a slice of pepper.

"Stop what?" He murmurs softly.

"Staring at me Sherlock. It's unnerving."

"Can't help it, it's either stare at you or interrupt dinner to take you again." He shrugs and she laughs at his honest admission. Stepping back from the chopping board, she turns to stare at him.

"What did it?" She quizzes. At his blank look she continues. "What made you kiss me today?"

"Oh." He colours as he brings up the memory. "It was that _song_." He grumbles and Molly looks bemused. "The one about the doll?" At her continued confusion she nabs her ipod from the side and looks at her recently played.

"Oh!" Dawning apprehension lights up her features. "Barbie Girl!" Then a wicked look spreads across her face. "I remember the lyrics, we'll act them out sometime." She grins and Sherlock colours again.


	20. Teach Me Doctor Hooper

A/N: I've had this conversation before but sadly not without this outcome... well not while we were at work anyway!

Enjoy this smutshot! x

* * *

They'd been in the lab, perfectly innocently making small talk which is all Molly had ever done with Sherlock, when the conversation took a sudden turn.

He'd appeared at St Bart's after running an undercover in a nearby office. She'd just got coffee when he came striding in, looking out of sorts until she twigged there was still a tie around his neck. He, as usual had commandeered the lab and commandeered her coffee.

But Molly was always chipper, so after getting another drink she made her usual small talk; trying to help him out with cases that were running through his brain. Being a rather (useless) bouncing board for suspects. But somewhere, somehow the conversation had skittered to an unusual point.

She'd ended up asking him about his sex life. Not directly of course, but they ended up discussing favourite things and somehow in the course of the inane conversation he'd uncovered her penchant for being blindfolded. She had gone crimson as soon as the words left her mouth but Sherlock had just stared at her briefly before hastily returning to his notes.

"I've never tried it but I can't imagine it being good." He said almost dismissively and Molly baulked. Sherlock, the king of experiments hadn't tried something!?

"I bet you're going to say you've never been tied up either?" She said almost accusingly. Some remote part of her brain was steering this conversation but she was genuinely confounded that the man before her hadn't tried this. He was the man who got hooked on heroin after 'experimenting'.

"No I haven't Molly." He leant over the microscope, peering into it before scribbling something down.

"No Sherlock, why. Why would you not try this? Losing one of your senses is exhilarating, ditto with losing control of the situation. Placing yourself and your pleasure in someone else's hands is incredibly arousing." Molly had come up behind Sherlock, almost unaware that he was staring at her dumbfounded.

"Really Molly?" He raised one brow and Molly's brain did something rather brave. And stupid. Mainly stupid.

She took the tie from his pocket and boldly pulled his hands behind his back.

"Molly what are you doing?" His voice could've cut glass but Molly's resolve was stronger than that and she took reassurance from the fact he hadn't fought her off. Instead his hands lay loose behind his back as she expertly bound his wrists in the tie.

"Always use a tie, or something soft. Metal cuffs are okay for those who like a little bit of pain in the moment, but I prefer a tie." She murmurs and presses a kiss beneath his earlobe. She hears him draw a sharp breath and she can't help but feel a thrill run through her. She watches his hands tighten, arms flex slightly as if to test the bindings. His breath hitches again afterwards and Molly smirks behind him. She knew what his brain was rushing through; he'd hit the stage of feeling powerless and aroused by allowing Molly the control. Her deductions are confirmed when he tilts his head, allowing her access to his neck which she peppers with soft kisses. Her hands are now roaming his chest freely, undoing the buttons and dancing her fingers over his skin.

"Molly." He hummed softly. "I need to kiss you." He groaned and she complied by allowing him to face her but she pulled away after a moment so and he groaned. "Molly…"

"Nope, I'm in charge." His blood travelled south pretty sharpish at her words and he's struck speechless as she pushes him to sit back on the lab stool again. "Stay." She quickly crosses the room and locks the lab door before coming back to him. She unbuttons his trousers and he lifts his hips to help her pull them down to his knees, pushing the ends of his shirt out of the way before kissing him through his boxers. He's remained oddly quiet through this but when Molly glances up at him he's staring back at her with heat in his eyes.

"Molly." He moans her name softly and she smiles. "Don't stop please."

Soon enough he's stood once more, his boxers and trousers at his ankles while Molly is kneeling and sucking on his cock. Sherlock's logic had shut down in the heat of the delicious moment he was in and his rationality had gladly handed over the control to a more animalistic part of his brain. He was struggling to free his hands, desperate to run his fingers through her hair and hold her in place. He wanted his hands free so he could pull her up, bend her over and spank her until she was begging him to fuck her. All these filthy thoughts tumbled from his mouth unconsciously and he was almost unaware of Molly getting hotter and hornier at the images rolling through her head. He was **almost** unaware; she had become rougher in giving him head, her hand and mouth working to bring him off and Sherlock was so close to breaking. His hips jutted, back almost bowing as she worked his body as well as he worked his violin strings and suddenly he gave a shout and came in her mouth.

Sagging against the table, he stared blankly at the pathologist who sprung up to stand beside him.

"Kiss me." He said hollowly and if she seemed surprised by his request, she didn't show it (or he didn't observe it), but she complied and stepped forwards to press a chaste kiss to his lips. "Untie me." He growled, but was relieved to feel her reach behind and release him from the infernal tie. He was quick to grab her hips and haul her close while deepening the kiss. He didn't mind his own taste so much, he was just determined to make Doctor Hooper come as hard as he had.

But it seemed others had different plans; there was a rattle on the door and a knock that quickly followed.

"Stamford." Sherlock growled, glaring at the door before releasing Molly.

"Sort yourself out." She winked as she practically skipped over to unlock the door, barely giving Sherlock a chance to pull himself together as she admitted Stamford into the room.

It wouldn't be until half hour later that Sherlock managed to corner her on her own again.

"I think there are other experiments to be done Doctor Hooper and I would like you to teach me." He murmured in her ear and was delighted to see her blush.

"I think I can do that." Her wolfish smile sent heat through him and it was only because Molly moved away that he didn't ravish her on the table. Oh there was a lot he was looking forward to learning with Molly Hooper.


	21. Under the Lens

A/N: I totally intended for this to be much much longer but I found that it didn't need it - not just yet. Maybe later it'll be extended into a full blown smut but I like this snapshot, review and tell me if you do to!

Enjoy!

* * *

"Sherlock, you're a pervert." Molly groaned, hurling a pillow at her wayward beau.

"Undoubtedly." He grinned. "But you look beautiful so can I?" He raised the camera aloft and Molly nodded with a dramatic huff. Obediently she burrowed her head and let Sherlock photograph her post-coital form.

Since dating Sherlock, she had discovered a number of his kinks. This included him taking erotic photos that he would then post to tumblr, of all places. Like the detective wasn't popular enough on there, he actually had his own secret tumblr. At first she had been mortified at the prospect of her naked body being splashed all over a page of the internet and had downright refused. Sherlock had accepted her decision with a kiss, without a complain but he had ignited Molly's curiosity.

Furtively, away from Sherlock's gaze Molly had researched and quickly found her discoveries arousing. The anonymous exhibitionism was heady and thrilling. There was a sophistication she hadn't expected – it wasn't crude or porny, which was what she had expected and feared but many of the blogs were intimate and elegant.

That was how she came to be in bed on a Sunday morning with her red arse under the inspection of Sherlock's camera.

She had to admit, she enjoyed preening under his hungry stare, she liked him capturing her with her hands bound behind her back, or on her knees head bent, or spread out on his sheets. This pose was demure, her arse slightly lifted while she was tangled in the bed clothes.

Molly didn't lift her head when she heard the camera set down on the table beside her. She didn't react as the bed dipped beneath his weight, instead she allowed him to roll her onto her back and mewed slightly as he captured one of her nipples between his teeth and the other between his fingers.

"Make love to me Sherlock." She whimpered.

"Gladly." He growled and Sunday morning soon passed into Sunday afternoon without the lovers knowing.


	22. Kitten

A/N: Short little naughty one! My sexual muse has chucked on her comfy jammies, grabbed ice cream and decided to be unsexy - hence there's no longer smut shots! Sorry :(

Enjoy this nibble though!

* * *

"You have sex toys?" He licked his lips in anticipation. This was not how he had expected it go. He had thought his _Kitten_ needed a strong hand guiding her, but there she was grinning cheekily back at him with a lusty look in her eyes.

"Of course I have sex toys." She smiled, the cheekiness becoming more predatory with every moment that passed. "How do you think I've pleased myself all this time?" She asks coyly, getting up from her chair and prowling towards him.

The words died on his lips as she stood next to him, one hand slowly snaking up his chest to play with the hair on the back of his neck, the other on his waist, touch edging downwards to cup his backside.

"Kitten please." He whispers, looking down into the lust filled expression of his girl.

"Please what?" She murmurs back, the slight pressure bringing his head towards hers as she leans up on her tip toes to kiss him. He is blown away by the kiss. All of this time, she had allowed him to be in charge, meekly submitting to his demands and playing along with him, but that had all been over text – when he decided he wanted to be with her, play with her, touch her. Now though, she was utterly in control. She had warned him that she was also known as mistress, not just kitten and he could see why. Her hand firmly on the back of his neck, kept him kissing her (as though he'd stop) while her other kneaded his butt cheek, pulling close, bringing him between her legs.

"Fuck." He says hoarsely, staring down at her wicked expression.

"Take me to bed Sherlock,"" Molly grins and Sherlock says nothing more, lifting her up in a swift movement and carrying her to the bedroom.

"I want to hear my kitten purr." He growls.


	23. Sneaking Around

A/N: A little Victorian!Sherlolly to soothe the soul.

Enjoy!

* * *

She was furious. Absolutely bloody furious. She'd sneaked out, following her husband along the murky streets. She'd donned some male garb to stop people harassing her while she wound her way through the London warren, ever keeping an eye on the tall form in front of her and now she was stood behind a wall shaking with anger. He promised her. He PROMISED her that he wouldn't go back to the opiates. After the pair of them had worked so hard to get him clean he just strolled back into the den like it was casual.

Still staring at the door in mind numbing anger, Molly's brain struggled to comprehend Sherlock's form walking back out five minutes later. He gave a short sharp whistle and suddenly the den was surrounded by the police.

Molly's mind now knew one thing even if she couldn't tell her husband's reason for his midnight jaunt; she needed to get home ASAP and with no money in her stolen pockets she legged it back to Baker Street, fearing that every carriage rattling past her carried her sneaky husband.

Panting, she fumbled with the still locked door and bolted up to the empty bedroom. She quickly stripped herself of the breeches and waistcoat, stuffing them under the bed and tangled herself through her nightgown, desperately wishing she could cool herself with the cold night air but the London smog wasn't having that and there would be no windows open tonight.

Unsure of how she would play this, she settled into bed and quickly snuffed the candle, listening intently for Sherlock's tread. The clock chimed one before the creak of the stairs gave Sherlock away. It had taken him twenty more minutes to come home and it was a long time for Molly to be worried and angry. It's why she took the approach she did.

"HOW DARE YOU!" She shouted as he opened the door stealthily.

"Molly? What are you doing up?" He looked blankly at her, his candle set down on the drawers.

"Don't you dare question me Sherlock Holmes, how bloody dare you!?"

"Well John…"

"Don't bring Doctor Watson up tonight. Are you forgetting that I have dined with Mary this evening and she told me that John was at home with baby Grace?" Molly had flung herself from bed and was glaring at Sherlock's contrite face. Her fists had balled up in anger, but she was glad of it, otherwise she may have been tempted to throw something at her husband's head, like a chamberpot.

"Oh."

"Oh indeed! How could you go to an opiates den!? After _everything_ Sherlock. You just wish to throw my love back in my face while you waste that marvellous brain of yours on those ridiculous substances." Molly had reached for her hairbrush now and she hurled it at her husband with all her might, (which the bruise on Sherlock's shoulder would proclaim to be a lot of might).

"How can you know where I was?"

"Don't play the damn fool me with Holmes, it doesn't suit that intelligence of yours!" Molly snapped, "This was the fourth night in three weeks that you abandoned my bed. At first I thought it was another woman, but this being the fourth I determined that a woman must be mad to spend that long with you, Lord knows I should have been in an asylum by now." She reached for her comb and Sherlock held up a hand in defence. "But, _but_ I decided I would follow you, give you the benefit of the doubt. After you bid me goodnight, to spend the evening with _John_ , I quickly ran to change and to follow you to wherever your shenanigans would take you." Molly was playing with the comb for now, still deliberating whether she wanted to hurl it at his head or somewhere lower down.

"Molly…" Sherlock cajoled but she cut across him.

"No. You say nothing until I ask." She growled. "I spent a good two hours keeping an eye on Great Scotland Yard, spent a lot of money on ale, and had one or two unfortunate women talk to me while I sat in the blasted shop opposite, but I waited until I saw you sweep out and instead of turning left for home, or hailing a cab you turned right so I followed you all the way to that horrid little place. Worst of all I recognised it as one of the places I've hauled you out of before, now why were you there?!"

"I was there on a case Molly. Lestrade, he learnt that I was clean from drugs for over two years now and decided he needed help. I was his help." Sherlock shrugged and Molly felt her ire drop.

"So why did you not tell me?" She stamped her foot against the carpet.

"You said I had to leave that life behind. If I wanted to be with you." Sherlock said simply and Molly glared suspiciously at him.

"What?" She still hadn't released the comb.

"You said I couldn't do that anymore!" He repeated, slower this time, which did not assuage his wife's anger like it had hoped.

"Yes, I mean the drugs Sherlock not the sleuthing!" Molly shook her head in despair.

"Oh… that's what you meant?" He frowned, and had cocked his head like some kind of adorable puppy and Molly placed the comb back on the side and stared at him.

"Yes that's what I meant you stupid man." She said simply. "We're married Sherlock, I'd like you to tell me these things." She sighed.

"Oh in that case, I'm working with Scotland Yard again." He smiled brightly and she let out a soft laugh. "Am I forgiven?" He asked hesitantly and was relieved to see her nod. "Can I kiss you now?" Another nod had him crossing the room and kissing her soundly.

"Been waiting to do that for hours." He whispered. "I miss you when I'm out 'sleuthing' as you call it."

"I've missed you too, only I didn't know you were out working." She stroked back the curls and held back a yawn.

"Well we'll discuss this again tomorrow, but let's go to bed Molly." Sherlock stepped back and started to undress.

"Next time you want to sneak out for a case, just tell me – I'll leave the door on a latch." Molly grinned as the pair climbed into bed.

"You'll do no such thing Mrs Holmes." Sherlock grumbled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Leaving the door on the latch in London, we'll have all kinds of villains in the house before we know it."


	24. Bare

A/N: So it's been over a month. Awfully sorry! Enjoy this lengthy naughty nugget.

* * *

"Hey Sherlock." Molly said cheerily as she entered the lab, spotting the detective poring over a microscope.

"Coffee please, you know how I like it." He said absently, lifting his head to glare at a report and back to the microscope. Molly smirked and sat at her own desk, knowing Sherlock wouldn't realise she hadn't gone to fetch his coffee for at least an hour and so she attended to her own paperwork.

Sure enough, about an hour and half later Sherlock looked up from his microscope and frowned.

"Did you get me coffee?" He turned to look at Molly who looked back at him innocently.

"I did, you didn't drink it so I drank it." Molly smiled at the two cups on her desk. Indeed she had fetched herself drinks on two different occasions while Sherlock had been unaware of her movements.

"But you don't like black coffee?" He was still staring at Molly, trying to work out if she was lying to him. Usually he would deduct a lot quicker but he had been up late last night, and the night before and his mind palace was a little foggy. Personally he blamed that on…

"Sherlock." John's voice interrupted his musings and the detective swung around to see his friend in the doorway.

"Yes?"

"I'm heading out with Greg for the arrest, do you want to come with?"

"Arrest?" Sherlock's frown deepened.

"You text me half an hour ago saying who it was, Greg and I are on our way to arrest Mrs Blatherstone, are you coming with us to gloat or not?"

"Not…" Molly piped up. "He needs a coffee boost, and you know what Sherlock's like without caffeine." Molly smiled and John rolled his eyes.

"See you later Sherlock, good luck Molly."

"If she'd have got me coffee like I asked we wouldn't be in this situation." Sherlock grumbled but John had already left.

"So you knew I hadn't?" Molly grinned, abandoning her own paperwork to lock the door John had just left through and then to nose through Sherlock's case notes.

"Of course I bloody knew, wench." He growled as she rested against his back to read his untidy scribble.

"Guess what Sherlock." She whispered in his ear, leaning against him. When he cocked his head in a silent answer she giggled. "No, you have to guess."

"Is it going to have something to do with the night before last, when I made you scream as I fucked you in the shower?" Sherlock had learnt a few things since dating Molly. A few things he would have deduced a long time ago if he had paid attention to her; such as Molly loved having her hair pulled, she liked leaving scratch marks on his back, she loved seeing the half crescent shapes her nails made on his backside and she loved kissing his neck to hear the noises he made. He heard her gasp and smiled to himself. Molly also loved dirty talk, she liked the naughty whispers in inappropriate places; on the tube, on the bus, at work, there was a thrill hearing Sherlock's rich voice utter such filthy profanities. It sent heat to her core and she rubbed her legs together to ease the friction, and she remembered just what she was going to tell him before he distracted her.

"Sort of." She nipped his ear lightly, moving back as he spun around to face her, interest piqued.

"I'm not wearing any underwear." She whispered as she nuzzled into his neck and she grinned to herself when he tensed.

"No underwear?" He said huskily and Molly laughed lightly, pressing a kiss to his throat before tangling her fingers in his curls.

"It's a no knicker day." She murmured, and then let out a soft squeal as his hands slid under the skirt she had opted for today. His hands rested against the backs of her knees, trailing up her thighs to cup her arse beneath the fabric.

"You locked the door right?" He growled, pressing a kiss to her chest. He saw the nod and quickly shucked the fabric of her skirt up so he could grab the soft flesh properly.

"Sherlock!" Molly let out a scandalised noise but it was all pretence, she loved having sex at work and luckily so did Sherlock. She let out a breathy moan as his fingers slid across her slit and she parted her legs for him.

"Oh Molly." He growled and she tugged lightly on his hair, pulling his head back for a fervent kiss, one that left the both desperate for more. His fingers played her like his favourite violin, he had teased her into life, making her a heated mess of want and need, her body rocking against his sinful touch which sped up alternating between her clit and sliding inside her.

"Take me Sherlock." She begged and let out a growl of frustration when he shook his head.

Any grievance she was about to hold against him faltered as he dropped to his knees and pressed a soft kiss to her pubic mound. Then he urged one leg over his shoulder, fluttered kisses on her thighs and alternated the touch with nibbles when she started to fuss. Just as she was about to complain that he was neglecting a most vital part of her he turned his head and sucked on her clit. Molly was pretty sure she'd never made a noise like the one that came from her at the moment, but it was a satisfied noise nonetheless. She stared down at Sherlock, who was on his knees in his faultless black suit, her skirt rucked up to her waist, upper half of her clothing practically immaculate while her boyfriend ate her out at work. She had to grip the table to stop her knees collapsing and she felt Sherlock shift his arms to support her better. He did heavenly things with his tongue and she was gasping for air and panting his name.

Then the door handle rattled. Pulled from the heady moment, Sherlock quickly stood helped a rather dazed Molly pull down her skirt, the pair of them just about looking innocent as one of the interns finally managed to get the door open. He looked flustered at finding Sherlock and Molly in the lab, quickly delivered the reports and all but fled out of the door which made Molly bite her lip and giggle. As Sherlock slid his arm around her waist to pull her down for a kiss John arrived back and groaned at the pair of them.

"You two are like sodding rabbits." He grumbled and Molly, now blushing to the roots of her hair stepped out of Sherlock's embrace.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock said haughtily.

"Molly's skirt is rolled up at the back, seriously… do it in a cupboard like most of us do, not at the sodding lab." He scolded and this time Molly made a 'cheep' of embarrassment, tugging her skirt down and glaring at the floor.

"That explains the intern." Sherlock said drily and winced when Molly slapped his arm.

"Also your trousers aren't hiding your hard on." John said as he edged towards the door. "I think the intern was more likely to notice that." He nodded at Sherlock's crotch, the doctor grinning as the tips of Sherlock's ears went pink. John left with a laugh, wait until Greg heard about this one. He made sure the door was locked this time.

"You should have no knickers days more often." Sherlock turned, taking Molly back in his arms.

"But Sherlock…!" She squeaked and sighed contentedly when he kissed her, sliding her arms around his neck to anchor him in place.

"No buts, I'm going to make you come on the tube home." He growled in her ear and smiled when her breath hitched.


	25. Plus One

A/N: Oh it's been a few weeks so I thought I would offer up a little Sherlolly bite.

Naughty implications! Enjoy!

* * *

There was one thing he needed and that was Molly. Forced to this bloody wedding of a cousin like five million times removed, Sherlock had asked Molly to accompany him. She had laughed at first, then she had gaped, then there was a blush and finally she said she would love to. Sherlock 'forgot' to tell her it was a high society wedding – the kind that had the Duke of Westminster and members of the royal family on the guest list. He had discreetly taken her dress shopping, well discreetly for him; he had swept her to a boutique or two before heading to the more mundane department stores and finally the pair settled on a dress from each end of the price scale. Sherlock bought the boutique one, regardless of the price the dove grey silk made her look radiant.

When they arrived at what could only be called a castle, Molly let out a gasp as Sherlock helped her from the car.

"This is absolutely beautiful! I bet this was extortionate to rent!" She exclaims quietly, pulling the silk wrap more securely around her shoulders.

"The bride owns it." Sherlock said absently, before wincing as he realised just what he had admitted.

" _Owns_ it!?" Molly hissed as Sherlock held out his arm and he led her up the gravel path to the front door, handing the invitation over to the steward at the front. He could feel Molly's tension practically vibrating through her and he sighed as the steward waved them through with a small smile. He hoped she hadn't spotted one of the Royal Princes on the other side of the foyer, but her sudden vice like grip on his arm told him that she had.

"Molly…" He murmured.

"Sherlock William Scott Holmes." Molly all but growled under her breath as they walked through the foyer. "I'm going to bloody murder you." She was proud to say she kept a fairly neutral smile on her face as he steered them through the bustling foyer. "And I know how to make it look like an accident." She added venomously as she accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

"Maybe you shouldn't kill me at the wedding, I'm sure there's some superstition or other about a murder at such a joyous event." He said lightly but winced when Molly's nails viciously dug into his arm.

~S.H~

The ceremony had Molly looking ecstatic as the wedding atmosphere swept her up, even Sherlock cracked a smile at seeing his cousin kiss his radiant bride before the pair turned back to the congregation. The photos had taken an age and Molly was forced to nudge Sherlock every time he started to fidget and whisper his deductions too loudly. When the reception officially started, the pair was soon fielding a number of tedious questions about whether they were dating, their 'relationship', their family, any kids, what were their _living arrangements_ with the last one muttered rather distastefully by a formidable looking matron. His parents were rescuing them as often as possible but they were often called away by various guests who were keen to catch up.

"Sherlock my boy! You've got a great catch here." The old man clapped Sherlock on the shoulder and winked at him, utterly ignoring Molly stood the other side of Sherlock. "Pretty little filly she is!" He chortled, still not acknowledging Molly, forcing Sherlock to stop his pathologist launching herself at the chap in her anger.

"Excuse us Uncle Ernest." Sherlock tugged the furious woman away, leaving him gaping at the retreating pair before grinning knowingly and telling his next partner that if she wasn't wedded and bedded within two months he was a codfish.

Eventually the bride and groom took to the dance floor and Sherlock watched his obscure relative whirl his bride around elegantly for their first dance, while keeping his arm firmly looped around Molly's waist as she stood in front of him. He had already chased off a couple of guys sniffing around her and he was determined to stop her falling into their lecherous grasps.

"Can we go home Sherlock?" Molly leant back against his chest, the pair squirrelled away in the corner, leaning against the wainscotting.

"Gladly!" He bent down to whisper in her ear and within fifteen minutes the pair had escaped the pretensions of the room.

Sherlock and his plus one had been offered a room in the castle but Sherlock had gallantly offered it to his parents who had RSVP'd later than he had. Instead Sherlock had managed to find a small comfortably hotel about thirty minutes out from the location and give Molly a chance to let her hair down from what he knew would be a stressful day.

After they had closed and locked their hotel room he watched Molly flop back onto the bed with a heartfelt sigh. He smiled softly as she kicked off her high heels with a groan before she hauled herself inelegantly into a sitting position, staring accusingly at him.

"You knew it would be a hellish day!" She narrowed her eyes and jabbed her finger in his direction.

"I did." He said quietly, coming to kneel at her feet ignoring her squeak of surprise as he started to massage her stockinged toes. "I also knew I needed you to keep me from causing a rather big scandal." He admitted and glanced up to see Molly smiling softly.

"You still owe me." She raised one eyebrow and Sherlock grinned back at her. "I need to get this dress off, as beautiful as it is, I'm ninety percent sure I'll feel better in pyjamas." She stood, allowing Sherlock to undo the fiddly buttons along the back and was again surprised to feel his quick fingers carefully pulling the pins out of her hair, allowing the elaborate hairstyle to unravel. Sherlock smiled as her hair started to fall free from the tight curls it had been kept in all day, and once her tresses swished down her back, he stepped back to indicate she should slip behind the screen to change…though he would love to have sat and helped her unpin the wicked garters he knew she was wearing. Sitting on the bed, he crossed his legs and glared at the wall, ruminating on brief thoughts of Molly in garters.

"Sherlock." Her voice broke through his daydream and his eyes flicked to where she had appeared… not in the plain pyjamas she had packed.

"Molly?" He had to wet his lips and clear his throat before he could talk. "Is everything okay?" He was training his eyes desperately on her face, relishing the brief glance of her clad in a silk grey suspender set. She had bought the three piece of garter belt, knickers and bra and Sherlock knew he'd lock that memory in a very special place.

"You were talking out loud again." She said patiently. "Something about my garters?" She bit her lip as he let out a whine at his error. "Why only watch?" She continued and he saw the spots of colours in her cheeks but she held his gaze.

They were both relying on one another to advance the next move. Molly had given him the opportunity, would he reject her, oh god she wouldn't cope if he did. Just as she was about to turn back behind the screen, flushing with embarrassment, Sherlock leapt from the bed to be at her side, quickly dropping to his knees to kiss her stomach.

"Really?" He whispered, his hands already sliding up the softness of the stockings from her ankles to her knees before settling on her thighs.

"Really." She looked down in awe at the dark haired man before her. She soon closed her eyes as he lightly kissed one thigh and then the other.


	26. Let's Go Home

A/N: Naughtiness straight from the off! Short little lemon

Enjoy!

* * *

"I'm going to rip those tights off and eat you out, all while you're in that gorgeous dress." Sherlock murmured in her ear as they stepped out of the cab to the restaurant they had booked for date night. Allowing Sherlock to pay the cabbie, Molly waited patiently until her beau went to step towards the restaurant, then she grabbed his arm hauled him back to and kissed him as though her life depended on it.

Her fingers wound into his hair, she squeaked as Sherlock's arms wrapped around her back, one hand slipping down to cup her backside. Her touch dipped down to his shoulders, to grip his lapels as she pushed herself closer to him, all but grinding on him and she heard the soft groan slip from his lips. He was hers.

"Please Sherlock." She pulled back briefly, whining as his lips moved to her neck. "Please Sherlock, fuck me."

"Here?" He growled, all logic eschewed for the feel of Molly in his arms. He was unaware that he was rocking against her, here in the middle of a busy London thoroughfare, all he wanted was his Molly.

"God yes, but fuck dinner. Let's go home." She whispered, moving her body with his.

"Yes." He stuck his arm out for a cab and all but pushed her inside when one stopped.


	27. Living Alone

A/N: I am currently unemployed and while I am home alone it's quite a...sobering experience! I'm very very bored.

So, this story got updated!

* * *

Molly had lived in her own flat for quite some time, she had shifted through different housing variations in her thirty something years of life; parents, uni digs, parents, houseshare, alone, fiancée, alone, boyfriend…and currently she was alone. Not because she had been dumped, but because her current beau had a habit of disappearing for weeks on end to assuage his curiosity and to help the police with various impossible cases.

Molly would admit that she had spent a fair few years with her just own company and a feline, who was now a senior and very lazy feline, but living with Sherlock changed everything. He was an undoubtedly intense companion, so when she was on her own for what could be weeks at a stretch, Molly was at first relieved but very quickly became uncomfortable and tense.

On the practical sides of living alone, like the chores, Molly was used to the drudgery. The cooking, the cleaning, the washing, hoovering and the mundane parts of being a human with a house and a pet she had long accepted and on occasions enjoyed the responsibility and the sense of achievement. She was used to looking after herself and her cat and knew that if she dropped something she would have to pick it up, if it missed the bin, there was only her to retrieve it. That was the standard if Sherlock was away. Although when he was in the flat with her, and if Sherlock didn't have a case that he liked, the pair would spend a **lot** of time together, and nothing much in the chores department would change. Molly usually did all of the above anyway as he wasn't exactly a domestic god, more a half trained monkey and half trained was being kind.

The one part Molly couldn't bear was the silence. The way the flat seemed to echo despite Toby's presence. There was a chilliness to a house when you lived alone and although Mrs Hudson was just downstairs if she wanted a chat and Mary or John always came over with the baby if she rang, going home to an empty flat was hard. It was hard to not have Sherlock's constant deductions in the background or even his moody silence if she had won a battle for the TV or hid his violin (it never stayed hidden for long, she wasn't creative enough to foil Sherlock).

She especially didn't like going to bed alone. Her sleeping arrangements differed a little if her other half was in residence. For example Toby would sleep with her on the bed when Sherlock was absent, or he would sleep in a cat hammock over the radiator in her bedroom when Sherlock was home. This appeared to be Toby's own choice, because Sherlock was a fidgety sleeping companion and the feline thoroughly disliked sharing bed space with the man that didn't stop wriggling. Molly enjoyed Toby's dent in the bed when Sherlock left it empty but she couldn't deny the void the detective left in her bedroom. She didn't like not having anyone besides her, the bed was cold and the duvet always gapped in the wrong place, creating a draught. There was no-one to curl around because sleeping next to Sherlock was like sleeping next to an oven (it was a tall person thing, she would swear to it), there was no-one to say goodnight to. The absence was hard and the absence of Sherlock was even harder.

It was after one such depressing night that Molly awoke to find herself firmly encased in a pair of arms. Rolling slightly to stare at her bedfellow she smiled in contentment to see Sherlock wrapped around her, still slumbering away.

Normally if she moved at all, he would wake fairly quickly, but she had been able to roll over completely to face him and drink in the sight of her sorely missed other half. In the early light of the morning she could see the haggard look on his face, even in sleep; the bags under his eyes were prominent, he seemed particularly pale and almost gaunt. He had been away for two weeks and clearly hadn't looked after himself. She frowned and resolved to change this.

Surprisingly she was able to slip from beneath the covers without waking him, and Molly padded into the kitchen, going about her usual morning routine of quietly fed Toby who gave her a rather filthy look as he followed from one of the many cat beds dotted around the flat, and then Molly set about making tea.

Barely ten minutes later Sherlock came in and stared at the scene before him.

His Molly was stood with her back to him, pouring her own cup of tea, his coffee set up, ready to go on the counter. She rummaged for something breakfast worthy in the fridge and cupboards. He leant against the doorjamb as she pulled out the frying pan and began to cook the bacon and the eggs. She turned to look at him in surprise and her eyes softened quickly into a smile.

"I missed you." He murmured as he crossed the room in three strides to take her in his arms.

"I missed you too, the flat is too quiet without you." Molly said with a smile.

"I love you."

"I love you too, now you need feeding up young man. You'd give Nana Hooper a fit if she saw you looking like the waif you currently are." Molly grinned and Sherlock did too. If you had asked him before _everything_ what home meant, he would have looked at you nonplussed and walked away, if you asked him now, he would have said home is wherever Molly Hooper was and that he absolutely hated living alone without her.


	28. One Look

A/N: It's a little on the naughty side for the return of this collection.

* * *

He had always thought the look in her eyes before this had been lust. He had always deduced them to be guarded but lustful looks towards him. Now he knew just how wrong he had been; her previous glances towards him or the looks she'd give him while he candidly described what they could do together if only she wasn't with Tom was wariness. It had been a wary apprehension of what her morals could handle while Sherlock described her fantasies to her in the work place.

Now though as he was spread eagled on her bed, hands bound to the corner posts, the look in her eyes was limitless and raw lust. Sherlock's cock twitched in response. It was not the first time Molly had enjoyed Sherlock's willing form, and it would not be the last, she raked her nails down his body leaving pale red marks on his white skin and Sherlock let out a frustrated groan when her touch skirted around his cock down each thigh.

"Please." He grunted, thrusting his hips at the empty air, and studiously ignoring her smug smile.

"No." She hummed and without another word she sat at the desk beside him and opened her laptop.

"Molly!" Sherlock was outraged at her course of action but she was resolute in her punishment. She left him huffing and begging on the bed, alternating between dire warnings and needy pleading. Sherlock knew what she was punishing him for; he had snuck into the lab and stolen a set of her keys, he had also stolen a lab pass and had nosed through her latest cases in the hope of assuaging his boredom.

He couldn't see her laptop screen, and she knew in this state, he wouldn't be able to deduce that actually she was mindlessly surfing through their favourite porn site. This was almost as much a torture for her as it was for him, but she was determined to hold herself until he whispered those magic words.

He broke a minute and thirty two seconds later.

"Mistress, please." It would work every single time and quickly abandoning her laptop, Molly returned to his form, inwardly grinning at the litany of pleas, platitudes and mild curses pouring from his lips as she pushed herself onto his length.

In the look that briefly passed between them, in a moment, they could see one another's lust mirrored on their faces, and it was unbridled passion that would tip them over the edge into their heady world of pleasure.


End file.
